


Your Guardian Devil

by CeceVolume



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, F/M, Guardian Angel AU, Guardian Devil AU, Lucifer Keeps His Wings, Protective Chloe, Protective Lucifer, angel with a shotgun, parallel to canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-01-23 20:08:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 40,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21325936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeceVolume/pseuds/CeceVolume
Summary: Thirty-four years ago, Amenadiel was sent by God on suspicious mission.  Not only was he to bless a young couple with a pregnancy, something that had never happened before; he was to offer a deal to his Fallen younger brother.  If Lucifer agreed to become the child’s Guardian Angel, he would be free to walk Earth for as long as she was alive.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 90
Kudos: 470





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in a alternate universe parallel to canon. Even though it's close to canon, it will be slightly off.
> 
> One major thing is that Chloe is only five when her father dies.

PROLOGUE

Landing behind the small cottage, Amenadiel closed his wings quietly, moving towards the window. A man sat on a couch in the middle of the room, his arms wrapped around his silently weeping wife as she held something small tight to her chest. Even though there were tears rolling down his cheeks as well, he soothingly stroked her hair as he rocked them gently back and forth.

“I…I was just s-so sure that this time…this time would be the t-t-time,” she murmured, turning her face into his neck. “W-we spent _everything_ on the…the treatments!” she cried with a shudder, fresh sobs wracking her petite body.

The man simply pulled her tighter to him, clenching his eyes closed as his head turned Heaven-wards.

His inner prayer rang through the first Angel’s head, the inner pain there surprising Amenadiel. _Please, please stop making her hurt this way._

In the Angel’s—minimal—contact with humans, he’d always thought of them as…selfish, for lack of a better term. The free will that his Father had given them tended to make them think of what was best for themselves, not others. Their money, status, reputation…that was what they cared about. Yet this husband just wanted his wife to not feel pain anymore, despite being in pain himself.

Amenadiel, for the first time since his Father gave him this mission, could almost see why God would put His hand into this couple’s infertility, something He had never done before. The man was definitely a good one, an incorruptible cop who chose his job to do the right thing. The woman, even though she had moments of weakness, was a good person with good intentions. Whoever they were now destined to procreate, they no doubt would do something very important with their blessed life.

Turning his own face to the Heavens, he slowed time, lifting the small blessing in his palm. _As You will it, Father,_ he thought, eyes sliding closed, _so shall it be._ He breathed out slowly, letting the small breath blow the small blessing to its destination.

Oh, if only the humans knew what a gift they were being given; not only did they get their wish, but they would raise the only baby God had ever completely gifted to a human.

He opened his eyes as the weight of the blessing left his hand, travelling easily through the walls and landing on the woman’s abdomen, spreading throughout her. For a moment, the Angel allowed himself to watch the light that illuminated her womb, allowed himself a small smile at a job well done, but knew better than to stay for too long. As time started once again, Amenadiel watched the humans, noting the way that the woman gave a small gasp of shock.

As Penelope Decker’s eyes raised to John’s, the Angel saw her mouth break in a shaky smile, love bursting from her. “We…we should stop trying,” she said, hand resting on her flat stomach. “Let’s just…do it the old fashioned way. Let Fate decide if and when we get…what we want.”

Though he looked confused, John nodded slowly, answering, “I think that’s a great idea.”

Unable to stop the small grin on his face, Amenadiel turned away, wings unfurling. Now he just needed to do the hard part.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Lucifer lounged on his throne, staring out amongst the infinite expanses of rooms as the shrieks of the Damned echoed through the void. After Abel had arrived in Hell, the Devil had taken great pains to find worthy ways to punish those that began to surround him, using their guilt against them for all eternity. Once upon a time, it had even brought him joy to do so.

But things were becoming tedious in Hell, even as the demons became more and more creative with how they did their jobs.

It was all so…predictable.

His head fell back in disappointment, his eyes sliding closed. Once upon a time, he’d made his jail into a personal resort, finding the fun in making sure the guilty were punished. But after so long as the same thing, day in and day out….

“Lucifer,” Maze purred from his side, resting both elbows on the arm rest beside his legs, “Abaddon is here to speak with you; seems some of the maximum security souls are becoming aware of their doors. She wants to…shake things up.” A wicked grin widened on her face. “She has some truly _great_ ideas for what to do to them.”

His head still flung back over the other side of the throne, he waved his glass at her. “Tell her that the Abyss is her domain; I leave it completely in her capable hands.” He glanced briefly at her. “If it’s got you so hot and bothered, you’re free to join her in the remodel. I don’t need you to stand watch over me when no one dares to come anywhere near the throne.”

The demon sighed in annoyance, standing up straight and crossing her arms over her chest. “Seriously?” she demanded, voice hard as she glared at him. “What is going on with you? You’re supposed to be the Lord of Hell, yet you don’t seem to care about any of it.”

“It’s all mind-numbingly _boring_, Mazikeen,” Lucifer complained, shifting to slowly stand. Pulling at his collar, he added, “I mean, everything’s the same as it has been since we opened for business. Those souls out there torture themselves for the most part; there’s nothing for us to actually do!”

Her eyes narrowed sharply. “Lucifer, you’re the _Devil_. _You_ are the one that’s supposed to keep an eye on everything down here! On every _one_ of us!” She threw her hands up in the air. “You’ve been in this funk since you came back from your vacation to Earth! Why isn’t all of this good enough for you?” she demanded, swinging her hand out to gesture to the whole of Hell. “You get to _punish_ the _guilty,_ do _whatever_ you want!”

“Not whatever I want,” he sighed, straightening his sleeves as he heard the Gates creaking open. “It seems my brother is coming to give me orders. _Again._”

Maze spun around, pulling free two of her knives to spin on her fingers. “What the hell is _he_ doing here? You haven’t even been to the surface lately!”

“I’ve no idea,” he drawled, eyes flashing red as Amenadiel flew closer. “But I suppose we’ll find out shortly, won’t we?”

“Lucifer,” Amenadiel greeted shortly as he landed to face his younger brother. Nodding to the demon beside his brother, he added, “Mazikeen. I have to speak with my brother. Privately.”

She gave a short laugh. “As if, virgin. Every time you pop up, the two of you come to blows, so I think I’ll stick around.”

The Angel raised his eyebrow, letting the moment hang between them. When it became apparent that he wouldn’t be scaring Maze into backing down, however, he sighed, looking back to his brother. “Father sent me to offer you…a deal.”

Surprise made Lucifer sputter as he shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “Oh, that’s rich, Brother,” he chuckled, shaking his head and letting a wide smile part his face. “Dear old _Dad_ wants to make a deal with _me_? The son He cast out and made a monster?”

Amenadiel rolled his eyes, saying, “You _rebelled_, Samael—”

“Ah, ah, ah!” the Devil interrupted, wagging his finger mockingly in his brother’s face. “That part of me _died_ when Father had me thrown from my home!” He laughed some more, looking over his shoulder at Maze. “Can you believe this? Oh, how the mighty have fallen, brother!” The older Angel’s wings flared threateningly, forcing Lucifer’s to do the same. “Seems I touched a _nerve_,” he murmured, eyes flashing dangerously.

“Trust me, _brother_; I wouldn’t have come here if it weren’t for Father’s orders,” Amenadiel answered through a clenched jaw, keeping his gaze on his brother’s. “I would have _never_ done this without His asking me to. In fact, I’m still questioning why _He _would even bother to.”

Rolling his eyes, Lucifer quipped, “Ah, yes, ever the dutiful son, doing whatever _Daddy dearest_ asks of you. Tell me, did He actually speak to you this time or is this another loose interpretation of His will?”

In a flash, Amenadiel had his younger brother by the throat, his hold just strong enough to surprise him. “Father is showing you _benevolence_; I suggest you _appreciate it._”

“You all claim that He was showing me _benevolence_ when He threw me into the Pits of Hell,” Lucifer retaliated with a smirk. “What’s so _great_ about this deal that you think I should appreciate it? What makes it _benevolent_?”

With a snarl, Amenadiel thrust him away, taking small pleasure in the sight of his rebellious brother stumbling a bit. _I hope You know what You’re doing,_ he prayed with a glance up before sighing, “He’s willing to let you leave Hell, go to Earth.”

That gave Lucifer pause, shock apparent on his face for the briefest moment before he covered it up with his usual bravado. “Oh-ho!” he cried, putting his hands in his pockets as he leaned heavily forward. “Dad wants _me_ to go up top with His precious humans? After everything He’s had his Prophets write about me? This has got to be good!” he chuckled, eyes blazing with excitement. “What’s so important that He would let me loose on the mortals?”

It was Amenadiel’s turn to smirk. “He wants you to become a Guardian Angel for a human that will be born in eleven months time.”

“Ha!” Lucifer laughed. “First of all, I believe the gestation period for humans is only nine months. Are you sure it isn’t a horse you’re thinking of? Secondly, why would do you think He would _ever_ trust me with a human life?”

Amenadiel, for the first time in millennia, really studied his brother. Years of ruling Hell hadn’t fully extinguished the once-blazing flame that had given Lucifer his name. It flickered in the back of his eyes with intrigue as he waited for the older Angel to answer.

After so many eons, why did he want so desperately to go to Earth? He had always seemed to enjoy his position as King of Hell, tormenting the souls of the Damned; why wouldn’t he want to stay in his precious kingdom, being the king of the _free will_ he had fought so hard for?

“The human is special,” Amenadiel answered slowly, crossing his arms over his chest in case this was another game Lucifer was playing. “Father sent me to bless a couple with a child, a man and wife not meant to have children. Whoever that child will turn out to be, they are important and will need to be protected.”

Anger flashed across the Lightbringer’s face, twisting his smile into something dangerous, predatory. “So, Father thinks He can discard me for a few millennia then pick me back up because He wants to make sure some _mortal_ survives an extra couple of decades?”

His laughter was dark, echoing monstrously throughout the void that expanded forever around them. It was almost as if Hell itself vibrated with the fury of its king, circling the Angel better than any army. Wings flexing in defensively, Amenadiel cross his arms over his chest, planting his feet. Though the demons were far below and would never make it to the precipice that the throne sat on, he knew that Hell would do as Lucifer bade it, the same way the Silver City responded to Father. If they fought, Lucifer would be able to control the very ground on which his older brother stood.

True nature flickering over his features, pure white wings lifted themselves aggressively, the red light of flames giving them an almost blood-stained appearance. _This_ was who his brother had become in his punishment, a ruined Angel with only the glory of his feathers to suggest he had once been anything other than a monster.

_He might be the most dangerous being left in existence._ Amenadiel banished the errant thought immediately. The Morningstar was little more than a petulant, selfish child unable to understand what duty and honor meant. Life was a party to him and he would always be looking for the next one.

“Lucifer,” AMenadiel murmured, forcing himself to remain calm so as not to stoke the Hellfire any longer, “you know you can’t deny Him for long; He has His ways of punishing those who displease Him. Even if they were once His favorite son.”

Lucifer snarled through a white smirk, “You can tell _Him_, from His _favorite_ son, that He can _shove_ His deal where the sun doesn’t shine. And, for once, that doesn’t mean Hell.”

Rage erupting at the insult to their Father, the first born couldn’t keep his fist from flying, landing with a resounding crack against Lucifer’s jaw, sending the other Angel flying into his throne. _This isn’t going well_, the logical part of his brain admonished, but the angry part of him chuckled with glee as his brother struggled to his feet.

Hissing as his hand went to his limply hanging jaw, the Devil punched the opposite side of his face with all his might, forcing the joint back into place. “Not a great way to ask for a favor, _brother_,” he growled, wiggling his jaw to make sure it would heal in the right place. “Especially when the only leverage you have is Father’s word that He’ll allow me topside, knowing damn well that I can do that whenever I want.”

“The difference, _Samael_,” Amenadiel gritted through clenched teeth, “is that no Angel under Father’s command will be allowed to hinder you in any way while the human is alive. You will be permitted to do anything deemed necessary to keep them safe.”

Flipping his suit jacket out of the way, Lucifer sat on his throne, contemplating his brother with one hand under his chin as he crossed one leg over the other. “So what you’re saying is Father would be giving _me_ free reign to do as I please with no annoying celestial interference? Anything in the name of protecting human spawn?”

Even though he knew Lucifer would twist the words for his own gain, Amenadiel sighed, “Yes.”

“And there will be no summons back to Hell so long as the human makes it through their mortal life?”

“_Yes_.”

As he studied his brother, the Devil tapped a finger to his cheek, the wheels clearly grinding behind his eyes, whether to find a loophole he could use or might be used against him. There was clearly something nefarious behind this plan, though he couldn’t quite piece together what yet. If the human that would be born was really so special, why not send another of His children to do the dirty work? Why would He trust His long-forgotten son with such an important task?

What could possibly be Father’s plan?

“Let’s say I take on this task; what’s to tell me if the human is in trouble? Surely, He doesn’t expect me to simply hover over the mortal day in and day out, stopping every hangnail?” the Devil questioned, shifting his legs as he evaluated his brother’s every movement, looking for any sign of subterfuge and finding none. Amenadiel was clearly annoyed at the very prospect of cutting this deal.

“You’ll be given the Guardian’s Mark,” his brother answered, the vein in his temple throbbing noticeably.

Sputtering as he leaned forward in surprise, Lucifer gasped, “Me?! A Guardian’s Mark?! Those are permanent!” And highly regarded as one of Father’s most treasured gifts to an Angel. Guardian Angels were nearly as high ranking as Archangels and probably twice as respected. Though it was rare for one Angel to be assigned to a particular human, they were the ones that made sure His plan stayed on the rails. And He was offering one to the _Lord of Hell_?!

“Obviously, it would become dormant once the human passed from the mortal realm,” Amenadiel quickly answered, waving off any idea Lucifer might have had about becoming a Guardian. “This is only for this _one_ human; there’s no way Father will give _you_ that kind of freedom.”

The words riled Lucifer just as his brother hadn’t intended, stoking the fire of betrayal that always flickered within him. “It seems that this _one_ human, however, is quite important,” he drawled, twisting his coin lazily over and under his fingers. “And Father wants me—specifically—desperately enough to allow me among His precious humans.”

_That_ certainly got a reaction. Righteous indignation flashed through Amenadiel’s gaze before it was replaced with his usual stoicism. “Twist it however you’d like, _brother_,” he said quietly, “but if you take this assignment, you’ll simply be doing Father’s bidding, like a _dutiful, loving son._”

With little more than a whoosh of air, the older Angel disappeared, no doubt returning to the Silver City patting his own back for getting the final word for the first time in eons.

Rolling his eyes in disdain, Lucifer stared at his coin, unfocused and furious. His Father certainly had figured out the perfect way to weasel His son into whatever the Hell it was He wanted from him. Perhaps it was a test, a question of whether the Devil would bow down once again. Or maybe it was simply his Father playing games, taunting Lucifer with the knowledge that _he wasn’t worthy_.

Now there was a decision to make, of course. The only way for him to figure out God’s true plan was to become a Guardian Angel, watching over a human for a few decades before being banished back to Hell. Earth might be his only chance to find his answers, however, and what were a handful of decades amongst the _centuries_ he’d been in Hell? He could wait out a mortal. And if it truly _was_ a trap set by his Father, he could simply let the human die, thwarting whatever grand purpose God intended them for.

Looking up towards where he’d fallen, Lucifer announced, “I’ll accept Your terms on one condition: Mazikeen will join me on my…adventure.”

The only answer he received was an intense burning between where his wings lay hidden, the symbol of the pentagram searing into his flesh. When he roared in pain, Hell answered, rumbling soothingly as if to assure him that it would be alright.

Mazikeen immediately appeared at his right hand, twirling her twin blades as she scouted the area. “What the Hell is going on?! What did he do to you?!” she demanded, the burnt half of her face twisting into an animalistic snarl.

“Not Amenadiel,” Lucifer gritted as the pain began to wane. “My Father is simply signing our deal.”

-.-.-.-.-.-

Eleven months on Earth was almost a full century in Hell and Lucifer had nearly forgotten his Father’s deal when the Mark started to itch on his back. Over the course of a few days—just a couple of hours on Earth, he supposed—it became impossible to ignore, becoming so hot that it singed through the suit he wore.

“Bloody Hell, Maze,” he’d grumbled as he used a particularly dull edge of his throne to scratch the Mark, looking up towards the barrier that kept his home secure. “I think it’s our time to go up.”

And, sure enough, when the pain became to much to bear, he simply…poofed. One blink of the eye was all it took and he and Maze were in a hospital, the beeping sound of the mortals’ machines a far cry from the screams of the damned. They stood, side by side, in front of a large window displaying a multitude of infants in different states of displeasure. Some were clearly shrieking against the chests of the nurses trying to rock them, other’s just contorting their faces before they too began to cry.

And in the middle of all the chaos laid one baby girl, if all the pink was anything to go by, calm as could be, staring dazedly towards the window. In that moment, Lucifer knew exactly would he was meant to protect, the idea still needling him as the unfocused gaze of the newborn disappeared behind her eyelids. Though all the other children clearly had some idea of who had just joined them in the wing, the tiny little girl seemed at peace with it, unbothered.

Squinting at the little container they had her in, the Devil read the nearly illegible scrawl that announced her name to the world.

_Chloe Jane Decker._

What an absolutely _boring_ name.

-.-.-.-.-.-

For the first few years of the child’s life, Lucifer’s Mark stayed dormant, allowing him to blaze a path through Los Angeles—of _course_ the miracle blessing child was residing in the City of Angels—and it’s wonderful underbelly. He enjoyed parties, orgies, drugs, alcohol. Anything he could possibly desire, whenever he desired it, was at his fingertips with a simple nod in the right direction.

But then the _pain_ hit in the middle of a particularly fun ménage trois, burning straight through into his bones. As he crumpled to the mattress and his bed-partners fled—in hindsight, probably thinking he was ODing—he felt his wings wriggling beneath his skin, ready to take flight.

With no other choice, he let them free, the only thing that lessened the pain. He let them lead him straight to a small cottage in a suburban-esque neighborhood, the door ajar. The burning lessened as he stepped across the threshold, taking in everything around him as his wings wrapped themselves around his shoulders.

To his left, there was only a mildly disrupted kitchen, full of the usual human clutter and disarray. Ahead of him, however, the living room had quite literally been torn apart, the stuffing of the couch littering the floor. The hair on his arms stood straight up at the sight of frames shattered, knickknacks thrown all over. There was a small hole in the wall to his right that made his eyes flicker between their normal brown and Devil red. _A bullet hole._

“What have we here?” he murmured, starting towards the door that had been carefully closed. The ache increased between his shoulder blades increased, making his wings flex protectively against him.

Slowly, he pulled open the door, revealing a short staircase leading into what must have been a basement cellar. As he quietly crept, he ducked away from the ceiling, listening to the sound of heavy breathing and the stifled, nearly inaudible sobbing coming from the same direction. With his wings scraping against the rafters holding totes for extra storage, he made his way towards the noises, the itching on his back becoming more insistent.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” a man’s scratchy voice rang out, waving a gun in the air as if to raise a flag to mark his location. “I promise I’ll make it quick! Just have to…tie up some loose ends, you know!”

Turning his gaze to where he could sense his charge and her mother were cowering, trying to stay silent behind some boxes, Lucifer wasn’t able to contain a snarl of fury. Going after a child and a woman to…_tie up loose ends_? Doing something so heinous that even the majority of the damned in his kingdom would balk at the idea?

He would _punish_ him.

In an instant, he broke through the rafters, putting himself between the box sheltering them and the man who’d put infanticide on his to-do list. Wings flaring—dramatic appendages, as usual—he hissed, “I would suggest—”

Three shots rang out, the impact of them hitting him in the chest not enough to phase him.

Why were humans so enamored with their firearms? If you had the intention to kill someone, the least you could do was make it personal, say by knife. Why waste the time on ammunition and gunshots?

As the hits continued, though, they _did _grow annoying. “Would you stop that?” he demanded petulantly. “I mean, honestly, why would you continue doing something that’s simply not working?” Throwing out his arms so they could fall at his sides, he added, “Do you not know how moronic that is?”

“B-b-but…I shot you,” the human stammered, stepping back as he remained crouched, nearly doubling over in his fear rather than the limited space. “Y-you…you c-can’t be upright!”

“And yet,” Lucifer answered with a shrug. The feathers on his wings rippled just before he drew them back into his shoulder blades, fixing his cuffs. “Anyways, I suggest you leave and forget about the Decker home. It gives me an awful itch right where I can’t reach when the…urchin is in danger and it would…behoove you to not upset me further.” He smiled brightly at the retreating figure, hoping that perhaps the fear of his retribution would put a stop to whatever this human was intending.

A figurine—was that an angel?—flew at his head, shattering as it hit his brow bone. “Stay away from me!” the man shouted as he grabbed more pieces to toss. “I’m warning you!”

“A fight it is then,” Lucifer answered, knowing the red was once more returning to his eyes as his Devil Face flickered menacingly to the surface. “And I must warn _you_ that a part of me will very much enjoy this.”

Starting towards the assailant, he heard the telltale sirens echoing in the distance, raising his lip in disgust. If he stayed for too much longer to punish the miscreant, he would be found by the human authorities who would no doubt not understand what he had to do. If he left, there was a chance that the human would escape, though, or that he might just decide to go after his prey to fix whatever problem she happened to be linked to.

“Which means I will have to take you with me,” Lucifer concluded aloud, dodging the man’s projectile to grab him by the collar of his shirt.

-.-.-.-.-.-

It was all over the news and there were so many people with cameras surrounding her all the time. It was a lot. Especially since her mother was almost constantly crying and she wasn’t exactly sure why. She knew it had to do with the bad man and that her daddy wasn’t coming home, but she didn’t understand _why_.

Why did so many people care about what happened?

She had been so scared when her and her mommy had to hide in the dusty basement from the man with the gun, but her daddy’s police brothers had shown up and made them safe. Besides, she had told them about the Angel that took the bad man away and wasn’t that a good thing? Instead, now she had to walk around with all of her not-blood-but-real aunties and uncles no matter where she went.

Even now, when she was wearing a black dress that she hated and watching the ugliest vase in the world get buried in the ground, she was surrounded by people when she really just wanted to be alone. She wanted someone to tell her why her daddy wasn’t going to be around anymore, why the bad man had tried shooting her mommy.

So, when she saw her chance to squeeze through the crowd of crying adults, she took it. There was a little bench not too far away; she wasn’t _really_ wandering off, since anyone of them would be able to see her.

With a sigh, she sat, cradling her chin in her hands as she slowly kicked her feet. She wished she could be in her jeans again, instead of the frilly black dress with slip-on shoes that she couldn’t run in. “Why?” she asked quietly, looking out across the well-kept lawn. “Why isn’t my daddy coming home? Why does everyone say I’m not safe?”

“Because you aren’t, child.”

Her head swung around to peek over her shoulder, catching sight of a tall, dark-haired man in a black suit that stood just behind the bench. He rounded it as she watched him, squinting at his face to try to figure out why he looked familiar. As he sat next to her, elbows to his knees while he pulled a cigarette out of his pack, she said, “Please don’t; those smell really bad. My mommy used to smoke and it was gross.”

With barely a glance in her direction, he put the cigarette back in its shiny case and slid it into his pocket. “It’s simply a habit, Miss Decker, one I don’t intend to give up.”

“You should,” she answered, enjoying his raised eyebrow and the confusion in his brown eyes as his head turned towards her. “Everybody says they’re really bad for you.” Looking both ways, she leaned close to him, delighting in the fact that he did the same. “They could even _kill_ you,” she whispered conspiratorially.

He gave a short laugh, one that she really liked because it was…real. Not like when other adults chuckled quickly then went back to whatever they were doing. He was _really_ paying attention to her.

“You’re odd, even for a child,” he said with a lopsided grin. “Tell me: what do you really want?”

Without hesitation, she answered, “I want my daddy to be able to come home.” It was the same thing she’d told her family and friends so many times since the day he left, but this man’s reaction wasn’t the same. Instead of giving her that sad look, he merely huffed once, looking back to the burial of the vase.

“Unfortunately, I can’t help you with that,” he replied easily. “And I assume your mother hasn’t properly explained it, either, judging by your lack of waterworks.”

She cocked her head at the question; what a weird thing to say. “She told me he can’t come home but she won’t tell me _why_. It really isn’t fair, since everyone else knows but me.” Looking down at her dress, she pulled at the itchy material, whining, “She even made me where _this_. I had to tell her no makeup.” She rolled her eyes over to his, liking the genuine smile on his face.

“Well,” he muttered, “you humans do love your funerals. The way you dress up for the dead is absolutely the most selfish thing in the world.” Leaning down, he whispered in her ear, “Your mother is simply using you to try to feel better about what happened.”

Smiling sadly, she thought on that for a moment. She didn’t understand, but obviously her mother did and it upset her. Guilt lanced through her as she looked up at her companion. “I just want—”

He lifted a hand, stopping her. “I can’t give you back your father, urchin. There is simply no way. And now, I have something to take care of something, so go back to your people.”

“But—”

There was a sudden _whoosh_ and the man was gone. She tried to see where he went, but in that moment, everything went crazy. A gunshot echoed through the air, coming from a nearby hill. Immediately, the people gathered around the small hole in the ground dropped low, two of her daddy’s brothers covering her mother.

“Chloe!” she heard them cry as three more raced towards her, the rest of the pack taking off in the direction of the sound. “Get _down_!”

Within seconds, she was surrounded, gathered up in arms and brought behind the limo they’d ridden there in. The men were asking her so many questions all at once that she became confused, her eyes welling with tears as they checked her for boo boos. They tried to comfort her, but all she could think about was the nice man in the suit who had talked to her like she was a big kid.

“Where’s the…the man?” she asked, trying to peer around the trunk of the limo to look for him.

That stopped her dad’s friends quickly. “Chloe, who are you talking about?” one asked, crouching low to be at her level. “What man?”

“He…he was sitting with me,” she murmured, still trying to catch sight of him even as the men pulled her back. Another volley of gunshots rang out. “He…he’s out there! He was…he was so _nice_!” Now she was openly crying, yanking against their arms. “The man in the suit is gonna get _hurt_!”

With one mighty pull, she got free, rushing around the side of the limo and racing towards that far away hill. She could make out the shapes of six men climbing the side, trying to keep their weapons level while they stumbled up the steep slope. But it was the two men on top that she kept her eyes on; one of them was _him_.

But there were two big and white…somethings coming out of his back, stretching across the blue of the sky threateningly. She watched, horrified, as he jerked slightly with every shot that rang out but never stopped moving towards the masked man on the hill. _The nice man is going to go away like Daddy._

He lunged just as the police officers made it to the top and disappeared.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Lucifer stood over the small human as she mumbled incoherently in her sleep, seemingly none the worse for wear. It was strange; he’d had fun talking with the child that afternoon, surprised at the intelligence she’d displayed. Or perhaps it was normal for children and he really needed to rethink some of the scripts in Hell.

He watched her, trying to discern what was so special about this one human that he didn’t even bother greeting his older brother when he sensed his presence.

“Lucifer,” Amenadiel murmured from behind him, looking over his shoulder at the tiny person. “You’re doing a better job at this than I thought you would, considering you’ve been ignoring her for the first five years of her life.”

The fallen Angel just shrugged. “If she doesn’t need me, why would I waste my time? It isn’t as if I won’t know when she needs me with the bloody Mark.” He glanced over at his brother. “Besides, the deal never said I had to watch her every movement.”

Bristling, the older of the two said, “This is _important_. _She_ is important. Whatever Father plans—”

“Don’t worry, _brother_,” Lucifer answered, his tone lackluster and bored. “_I_ am not one to go back on my deals. So long as the Mark burns, I will keep her safe.”

Amenadiel started to say something, but in a blink, Lucifer was gone, leaving nothing but a single white feather behind.


	2. Six Shots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe is assigned a case where she is one step behind an enigmatic club owner every step of the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me a bit, but I finally got it out. Sorry for the wait!

CHAPTER ONE  
Six Shots

_Last Year_

_Every Dad-damned time,_ Lucifer snarled in his own mind as the pain rippling through his back made his palms slam a discordant tune on the ivory keys beneath his fingers. Everyone in LUX immediately quieted, staring in surprise at the owner whose piano sat in the spotlight. It took him a moment to quell the feeling—still so unusual, so unwanted—of his wings twitching beneath his skin, but he was finally able to sit up fully, fixing his cuffs.

Smiling stiffly to the room and his guests, the Devil said charmingly, “Well. It seems there is someplace I need to be. Please, don’t stop the party on my account.”

He stood, taking his suit jacket from the bench beside him while the spotlight shut off and the DJ restarted the party music. Annoyed, he stormed through the crowd, letting out a harsh whistle to call Maze over to him. Of course, he should have known that she was already on her way to meet him at the elevator; Maze always knew exactly what he needed her to do before he did.

“Is it the Mark?” she muttered, keeping her dark gaze trained out the doors, her hand going to the knife strapped around her leather-clad thigh as if there were any real threats to the ex-Angel. “It’s been awhile since it bothered you; I was hoping maybe she’d already died.”

It took a lot of self-control Lucifer wasn’t aware he had not to tell her that there had been many other incidents; they were just so much more _boring_ than her being targeted by an assassin. Just the fact that—at five years old—she had been the target of assassins had made him think that everything to do with this deal with Dad might not be so terrible after all.

Instead, he’d felt the pull to protect her when she was learning how to ride a bike and nearly fell into the street. It was an easy enough problem of hers to fix; all he had to do was stop the car for a few seconds.

And there’d been the time at one of her job auditions—Penelope had her at _a lot_ of auditions when she was pubescent—that one of the humans hadn’t tightened a screw on a stage light. That one was also pretty easy; he had just raced across the stage to push her aside and disappeared.

Then there had been the young man she’d broken up with just a few weeks before he’d come stalking into her home, sure that she was cheating on him. As much as Lucifer had wanted to simply play his PowerPoint presentation on why monogamy was neither a moral nor natural thing, the boy had been adamant that she was only for him and the Devil was forced to give him a little…man-to-Devil talk to get his point across.

Or when her douche of a husband was driving her to the hospital and a semi-truck had nearly driven them off the road. That one had been a bit more difficult; he’d had to pull the eighteen-wheeler across a lane of traffic. For an entire _day_ his arms had ached in a way he’d only known when fighting his siblings.

But those hadn’t made his wings itch to be free like this. With those, there’d been an ache in his mark, no wing activity. Only the times with the shooters had they nearly prematurely unfurled.

Now…now they _burned._ Somewhere out there, she was in very real danger and it was finally time to stop having to leave things he _greatly_ enjoyed for things so obnoxiously _dull_. Perhaps this was the moment that would make her realize that she needed to stay home for the next sixty years in relative safety, which would leave him free to do as he pleased without all the boring interruptions. He just wondered what could possibly be equivalent to getting shot at as a helpless human child.

Exiting the elevator quickly, Lucifer muttered, “I will be back as quickly as possible,” as he slammed his arms into the coat of his suit. “Don’t let the party die before I do.”

Crossing her arms and cocking her hip at his easy dismissal, she called out, “What would be so bad about breaking this deal? It’s with your Dad, not a mortal; they would certainly never know that you stopped protecting one particular human. And what’s He going to do, come down here and drag your ass to Hell Himself?”

“I don’t break deals, Mazikeen,” he answered as he broke out onto the balcony, letting his wings free. He stretched them quickly, savoring the feeling of a small release on the pain in his back. “Not even to my omnipresent ass of a Father,” he growled to himself before he kicked out and let his wings lead the way.

When he appeared in a room full of guns—most of which swung to him—he couldn’t keep a smirk from appearing on his face. “Well, hello, gentlemen,” he purred, voice low with excitement. “I don’t suppose I could ask you to help me find my blonde?”

-.-.-.-.-.-

Chloe kept her back plastered to the wall. Malcolm had just seen her, and he was no doubt going to kill her. She’d seen him taking money from gangsters; she was officially a loose end. And there were two other men that would think the same of her.

Breathing heavily, she took only a moment to decide what she had to do: hide.

There would be men surrounding the building, probably being informed to look for her as soon as Malcolm saw her. But it was an abandoned gym, filled with old equipment that she could hide behind; she might be able to get a call in before they found her.

Heart leaping in her chest, she raced away just as the gunshots began ringing out.

She ducked low, taking shelter behind a semi-broken-down fighting ring. Daring to take a look around the corner, she had her gun ready but was shocked to find that the door she’d hidden behind was completely intact. _The chaos is coming from that room_, she realized. _They’re firing at each other._

Knowing that it was stupid but unable to stop herself from going in to save a brother in blue, Chloe ran back to the door, bursting through it.

Only to find a man in a suit—_the_ man in the suit from her childhood—standing amongst the carnage. Malcolm and the two gangsters laid on the floor, bleeding, dying, surrounding the man obscured by the shadows like a morbid choir.

“That was easier than I thought,” he muttered aloud in a British accent, straightening his cuffs. “Didn’t even have to lift a finger.” He slowly turned around as he continued fixing his suit, coming to a stuttering stop when he caught sight of her. “Oh, there you are!” he said pleasantly, smiling so she could see the blazing white of his teeth despite the shadows distorting the rest of his features. “So glad to see I’ve done my job.”

“Wh…what have you done?” she breathed, eyes locked on where Malcolm—the only one still breathing—laid unconscious. “Di…did you…you…do _this_?”

He glanced around in confusion. “This? Alas, I can’t take this credit; seems I’m not the only one guarding you, as it were.” Pointing towards the fallen Malcolm, he added, “That one there might still live, if you call an ambulance. He’ll probably have more answers for you.”

Without a word more, huge white wings spread from behind him and he disappeared, leaving no sign that he was there other than a small breeze.

-.-.-.-.-.-

_Present Day_

“I’m gonna do it,” Delilah murmured as they passed the front door of LUX, locking her gaze with his. “I’m going to get clean, be better.” As Lucifer looked down at her, he noted that he was seeing a flickering ghost of that innocent girl she had been before he’d introduced her to Jimmy Barnes, realized that she actually meant it, at least in that moment. It made him happy; he might tempt people to do what they wanted, but he didn’t want to see them _hurt_. It was all supposed to be about free will and pleasure.

So, he smiled, a genuine gesture before he pulled her into his arms for a brief, uncomfortable hug; humans seemed reassured by such gestures. And he did actually _like_ the girl; she might have gone down a rough path, but she’d once been a girl with dreams of singing like her idols.

And he’d given that to her.

Slowly pulling away, Lucifer thought to say something, make some response. But then the ringing sound of gunfire tore through the air, their shots strong enough to launch him off his feet. He could feel the multiple impacts on Delilah’s body as she jerked against him, falling on top of his right side.

He didn’t need to see her face to know she was dead; the blood splattered across the sidewalk beneath them, the building behind them told him everything.

Rage filled him and his gaze went red.

-.-.-.-.-.-

“I already talked to _Mr. Morningstar_,” Detective Dan Espinoza practically growled to his estranged wife. “He’s the only witness, was walking with her. Not a scratch on him, claims he’s the Devil.”

Chloe rolled her eyes. _Only in LA,_ she thought as she continued to look over the crime scene, trying to figure out how in the _hell_ this _Mr. Morningstar_ managed to come out unscathed when Delilah took at least half a dozen shots to the chest. “I’m more worried about what he might know about the case over whatever delusion he might be under.”

Shrugging while she rose to her full height, Dan answered, “He claims he talked to the shooter, who said he was paid for the hit. But there’s no way he had the chance; his lungs were crushed in the accident.”

“Maybe. Still,” she said thoughtfully, chewing on the inside of her cheek, “I’ll follow up on it, just to be sure this is as open and shut as you’re determined it is.”

“Chlo,” Dan muttered, exasperated, taking hold of her shoulder. “You’re a good detective, but this is high profile. After Palmetto—”

“Stop, Dan.” Tensing, Chloe stood at her full height. Everyone hated her because of that case; she’d been benched for nearly five months despite opening an investigation into Malcolm, who remained in a coma. Then there was the personal inquiry into who the man in the suit might be, if he existed at all, that had her going to mandatory counseling once a week.

Her mother insisted that the man had been imaginary, that Chloe had created some male influence after her father’s death in her head to deal with the tragedy. But…she was sure he was real. Though she’d only spoken with him—up until Palmetto—at her father’s funeral, she still caught glimpses of him throughout her life. From a glimpse of him easily holding the bumper of a car when she tipped off her bike into the street to seeing his reflection in the side mirror of a semi that had nearly killed them on the freeway when she was in labor with Trixie, he popped up whenever she needed him most.

But his face was always obscured, whether by shadows or a glare off a trunk. All she knew was the British accent and that he was tall; not much to go on without a name.

“I’m being thorough,” she sighed, shaking the thought of the random man out of her mind. “Something doesn’t feel right about this. Delilah wasn’t destitute; why would she screw over a man like Eddie Deacon?”

Why would a woman with the means and the addiction take a chance screwing over her dealer?

“Whatever, Chloe,” Dan scoffed, throwing his hands in the air. “This is a high-profile case; if you want to make the department look bad, it’s your badge on the line.” He stalked off towards his cruiser.

Trying to keep her agitation from showing, she glanced around once more, wondering if she should go talk to the witness herself but dismissing it quickly.

If he honestly thought he was the Devil, he had to be in shock, she reasoned. Besides, other than what Dan had already told her, she didn’t need much; if it was a hit, she would have to follow the trail of suspects like with any other case. Should she need some more insight, she would turn back to LUX, but until then….

She had a homicide to solve.

-.-.-.-.-.-

“I’m sorry, miss, but he is in mourning,” the butler—because of _course_ the rapper 2Vile had a British butler—answered politely, a smile on his face that she was sure remained plastered there whenever in the company of others. “He won’t be answering any questions—”

The man was cut off by glass breaking upstairs, followed with a scream and replying chorus of gunshots. Without another thought, she drew her weapon, pushing past the middle-aged man towards the stairs.

“Don’t shoot, you idiots!” someone called out, making her move even faster up the stairs as she got close to the first landing.

_What the hell is going on up there? And how many stairs do they really need?_

“LAPD!” she shouted as she flung herself into the room main room, gun raised. There were a dozen men, staring open-mouthed towards the balcony, where one other man sat on the ground, sobbing. “Hands up!”

Slowly, everyone’s hands rose in the air and they turned towards her. As she took in their distraught faces, the man on the ground scrambled to his feet, trying to calm his shaking knees. _What happened here?_

“I told him everything I know!” 2Vile—she could read his chain as he got closer—cried, looking around the room wildly. His hands remained in the air, but he quickly shuffled until he was right beside her. “I…that guy…he was…he nearly killed me!”

Lowering her weapon, she asked, “Who?”

“He said…he called himself the Devil!”

The club owner? How many people were claiming to be Satan in LA? And how had he known to go after the rapper? “What did he want to know? What did you tell him?” _How did he scare men armed to the teeth into giving him any information at all?_

“I-I told him about Dr. Linda, Delilah’s shrink,” 2Vile answered quickly. “She knows who the bit—Delilah was cheating on me with.” He took hold of both her shoulders, squeezing just enough to make her wonder again how a sleazy club owner could put the fear of God into this guy. “Don’t tell him I told you; he kept saying…_he_ was gonna punish her killer.”

“A vigilante calling himself the Devil? That’s a little far-fetched,” she noted, though she was beginning to believe she _should_ have spoken with the witness at the scene after Dan did. Pulling her card out of her pocket, she passed it to him, still surprised by the power of the shaking of his hands as he clutched it like a lifeline. “If this guy shows up again, I want you to _call me_. I can have a squad here in two minutes. Thank you.”

-.-.-.-.-.-

“Monkey, I’m proud of you for standing up to the bully, but I wish you would have told me about it,” Chloe gently reprimanded as she led her daughter out of the school. She crouched down to the seven-year-old’s height as she caught sight of Dan _finally_ arriving at the school, trying to keep her annoyance from showing on her face. “If you would have told me this girl was bullying you, I would have intervened.”

Trixie glanced down at the ground, kicking softly at the blades of grass under her feet. “I didn’t want to bug you,” she admitted quietly. “Since Daddy moved out—”

“Hey, Trixie!” Dan greeted lovingly, wrapping his arms around his daughter. “Oh, bug, I missed you, but we’re going to have to talk about—”

“She gets it, Dan,” Chloe hissed as she rose to her full height, crossing her arms. “And it’s your own fault you miss her; you can’t keep cancelling on her because _something came up_.”

He narrowed a glare at her, answering through gritted teeth, “I can’t help it if I’ve got a case heating up—”

“I’m still on a case right now,” she interrupted furiously, “but that didn’t stop me from coming here when my _daughter_ was called into the principal’s office for _fighting._” She brought a hand to her brow, like she was blocking the sun from her eyes except this was just trying to relieve the anger that spread through her every time her ex used work as an excuse to not be around. “Honestly, I don’t know why I even bother; if you didn’t listen to me when we were married, why would you now?”

“You’re still working the Delilah case?” he scoffed. “Oh, come on! I told you: this is open and shut. Don’t put your ass on the line for something so obvious.”

She scowled at him. “Are you kidding? That watch you said had to be fake was worth _ten thousand dollars_. The car they drove was a beater, but Eddie could afford that? Give me a break!” She held out a hand expectantly, hissing, “Give me that witness’s card so I can call him myself. Obviously, I can’t trust that you actually did a thorough job.”

He rolled his eyes, snatching out the card and pressing it into her hand. “Whatever. I’ll take Trixie to my mom’s and you can start looking for a new job.”

Taking their daughter’s hand, he dragged her away as the girl waved sadly over her shoulder towards her mother, making Chloe’s chest ache.

She really needed to stop letting Dan antagonize her, especially in front of their daughter.

Striding towards her cruiser, she glanced at the card, dialing the number quickly before setting the call to Bluetooth. It rang three times before a voice came through.

It was _British_.

“Hello, I’m sorry to cut this short, but Dr. Martin and I are in the middle of—”

She was almost too stunned to speak. She recognized that voice, knew it as well as she did her own. _I’m not crazy; he’s real._ “This is Detective—”

A woman’s pleased moan practically vibrated through the phone, followed by a pleased masculine chuckle. “One of us is going to have to make this quick, Detective, and I assure you it isn’t me.”

“Where are you?” she demanded, desperate to finally have her tangible proof of the man in the suit. She would drag him in kicking and screaming, if she had to, so they would finally have a second witness to the Palmetto Street case.

“I’ve already told you, darling,” he answered before he clicked off, “with Dr. Martin.”

As the phone call ended, she snapped out of her shock, realizing that Dr. Linda Martin was the name of Delilah’s therapist in Beverly Hills.

-.-.-.-.-.-

“I’m very sorry for the…uh…mess,” Linda breathed, embarrassment reddening her cheeks. “I just have a patient—”

Ignoring the disheveled appearance of the doctor, Chloe interrupted, “What’s his name?” She watched as Linda blinked in shock at her, having lost all her patience on the drive over. “Why did he come here? And don’t lie to me; he’s a suspect in an active case.” _Kind of a personal one,_ she didn’t add.

The therapist cleared her throat, murmuring, “I don’t know who you’re talking about,” as she sat on her chair, smoothing her skirt as she crossed one leg over the other. “Is there a specific patient of mine that the police are looking for? If so, why don’t you know his name?” she asked coolly.

“He’s driving around like some kind of vigilante and I managed to get his number from a colleague, but I’m pretty sure the name he gave is fake,” she admitted, leaning forward with her hands dangling between her knees as her elbows rested there. “He told the officer his name was _Lucifer Morningstar_, so I’m sure you can see how it might be dangerous for him to be running around trying to solve crimes.”

Linda watched her carefully for a moment, seeming to size her up. Chloe _hated_ shrinks and tried to contain her squirms of discomfort under the watchful gaze that seemed to notice _everything_. “That isn’t the only reason, is it?” the therapist asked quietly. “There’s something…personal about what he’s doing that you need to figure out, isn’t there?”

_This is why I hate these people_, Chloe hissed in her own mind, maintaining a neutral demeanor as well as she could. “I don’t like when clearly delusional civilians try to do police work,” she admitted. “And I’m certainly not going to let him go around thinking he’s free to do this kind of thing.”

The therapist gives a short nod, straightening a fly-away strand of her hair. “I guess it is kind of…the antitheses of your work,” she admitted thoughtfully. “And while I agree that Lucifer Morningstar is definitely full of metaphors and obvious coping mechanisms, I can’t say that I would actually call him delusional. He seemed perfectly in touch with the world around him, even though he insisted he was the Devil.”

Chloe _really_ didn’t want to roll her eyes. “Isn’t that insistence enough for you to know he’s certifiable?”

Tensing, Linda answered savagely, “Absolutely not! I’ve seen many patients who have created personas for themselves that function perfectly well. Just because Lucifer is more outspoken about how he sees himself doesn’t make him _certifiable_.” She spat the last word with vehemence as she got out of her chair. “Now, I’m going to have to ask you to _leave_.”

“Wait!” Chloe cried, holding out a hand as if to grab the doctor, even though she didn’t. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you,” she said quickly, honestly, hoping that it would sway the other woman to answer more questions. “You were right; it is personal for me. This is my first case back after a really…_really_ rough case a few months ago and he’s trampling all over it. I _can’t_ let _anything_ mess it up.”

The other woman gave her a compassionate look before she spoke. “All I told him was that Delilah had been talking a lot about an actor named Grey Cooper. They co-starred in the movie _Time Will Tell_ last year and she seemed…close with him.”

“Thank you,” Chloe said with a grateful smile, reaching out to give the other woman’s wrist a companionable squeeze before she stood and left.

-.-.-.-.-.-

When she arrived at the studio where Grey Cooper was supposed to be shooting his newest movie, she was surprised to find that other officers had beaten her there. At first, she thought that maybe—_maybe_—there had been a break in the case that she hadn’t known about.

But once she heard the shouting as she got closer to the uniforms, she knew it was just another domestic dispute between a man, his wife, and…the bodyguard. _Seriously? _Today _they’re getting into a fight?_

Unease knotting in her stomach, she crossed to one of the boys in blue standing around the edge, introducing herself before asking, “What happened here?”

He shrugged. “Some guy came around, asking questions, got Cooper to admit in front of his wife that he’d been sleeping with his ex-costar, that Delilah that died in the drive-by last night. Then the wife bragged about sleeping with the bodyguard, so that turned into a fist fight between the guys.”

“Seriously? Why would he say that in front of his wife?”

That got the cop to chuckle. “To hear him tell it, the Devil made him do it,” he said with a smile, shaking his head as he rolled his eyes good-naturedly. At her raised eyebrow, he expanded, “Says some guy named Lucifer Morningstar came on set and disrupted the shoot, asked him a couple questions, then _hypnotized_ him into telling all, including wanting to be the President of the United States someday.”

She froze at the name, anger bubbling beneath her disquiet. “Did you say ‘Lucifer Morningstar’?” Chloe growled from between clenched teeth. When the uniform nodded slowly, she added, “That guy’s been a step ahead of me the entire _day_; he’s supposed to be a club owner, not Batman!” Pulling out her phone, she nodded towards the still-shouting trio. “Bring them to the station. I need to ask them a few questions.”

Re-dialing the man who called himself the Devil, she waited—_three rings again_—for him to answer.

“If this is the detective with the _wonderful_ voice, you’ll have to take a raincheck. I’m in the middle of a murder investigation,” he started in lieu of an actual greeting.

Before he could hang up, she hissed, “Stop whatever you’re doing and tell me where I can find you. I’m guessing you aren’t _investigating_ from LUX, _Mr. Morningstar._”

His laughter rang through the phone. “Oh, _Detective_, of course not. And why should I tell you where I am or what I’m doing? You and your corrupt organization have already written off what happened to Delilah and I plan to punish whoever is behind it.”

“Stop. Whatever. You are doing,” she demanded gruffly, wondering idly how the _hell_ her day had devolved into _this_. “It is _illegal_ for you to impede a murder investigation.”

More chuckling on his end, a harsh groan on hers. “You humans and your laws,” he laughed like she did when Trixie asked for a horse on her fifth birthday, “it’s absolutely _precious_ that you think they apply to me in the slightest.”

_Click_.

As she ripped open her car door, she wanted to throw her phone to the asphalt in annoyance, maybe even run it over for added effect. _Who the hell does he think he is?_ Chloe’s inner voice demanded. _Whoever this guy is, he certainly isn’t the man in the suit._

With nothing else to do about the club owner now, she pulled off the set and towards the station, determined to put him out of her mind until she had to think about him.

-.-.-.-.-.-

A dead end. Grey Cooper and his wife—while in desperate need of counseling—weren’t killers. They seemed honestly distraught at the thought of Delilah having a hit put on her, could hardly believe it.

“Sure, she was a skank,” Amanda admitted softly, “but Grey isn’t worth _killing_ someone over.”

And that was it. They didn’t have motive and their alibis were solid; she released them with an apology and they went together to deal with their domestic violence arrests.

So she was back at her desk, pouring over the Delilah file once again, wondering if she could trust her intuition that screamed _something isn’t right_. Was she just looking for a reason to make the case more than it was, trying to prove herself after the shit show that was Palmetto?

Reading as quickly as she could, Chloe tried to find any red flag, anything that she might have missed, when Dan dropped a folder on her desk.

“Here’s my notes from the interview with the club owner for your report,” he barked, still clearly smarting from their conversation outside of the school. “I suggest you file it sooner rather than later and call it good.”

Resisting the urge to flip him off as he strode away, she snatched up the folder, gritting her teeth as she went through her ex-husband’s clear and concise notes.

_Lucifer Morningstar? –check into other aliases_

_ DYING shooter claimed it was a hit – didn’t say who paid him or why_

_ Told me to look into Jimmy Barnes – had altercation with vic in Grammy’s bathroom_

Chloe stopped there. How many people knew about this…_altercation_ with Jimmy Barnes? There were no filed incident reports and no one else had even brought up his name. But he was her ex-fiancé, a man that she left at the altar even though he was her producer. It also said that merely a month after the Grammy’s, he’d gotten left at the altar _again_, this time by a supermodel; apparently, an _unknown man_ had halted the ceremony. _This morning_.

When she pulled up a photo from the wedding, she wasn’t surprised to see _the man in the suit_. It only showed the barest hint of his profile, but she could see a tease of those bright white teeth as he spoke to the supermodel. He was exceptionally tall, just as she’d remembered him, with slick black hair and stubble.

Fury filled her. Had he figured it out before her? What was she missing?

Hissing, she dug up everything she could find that would tie Jimmy to Delilah, try to figure out why he might want her dead. There wasn’t a whole lot that she could do without a warrant, but skimming through the tabloids online did enough.

Jimmy Barnes was broke. He’d poured money into Delilah and she’d left him and his company high and dry when she’d run off before the wedding. She was taking him to court for the rights to her maste-/rs, which would only drive him further under.

He had all the reason to want her gone. He would get all the royalties from all the music that had been started under his company _and_ get rid of a thorn in his side.

“Thank you, _Lucifer Morningstar_,” she mumbled, grabbing her keys and racing out of the precinct.

-.-.-.-.-.-

It was hell trying to get back in the recording studio where Jimmy was working. For a guy struggling to stay afloat, he was still pretty good at paying people to hold her off. From security to his secretary to the agent of the Justin Beiber wannabe, they all seemed to be more than happy to stop her at every turn. Finally, she just bluffed her way through the door, telling them that she would arrest them all on obstruction of justice if they didn’t let her through.

“Hello, Mr. Barnes,” she said as she crossed the threshold, straightening her jacket as her eyes fell on him. “I’m Detective Decker with LAPD and I have some questions about—”

Motion flooded the room. From within his own coat, Jimmy grabbed a gun, pulling the young man he was recording to his side. _A hostage_. She drew her own weapon, but couldn’t get a shot off before her vision was blocked by the back of a suit.

“What the fu—”

“Well, that can’t be right,” the man suddenly in front of her murmured. “I’m not meant to protect _him_.”

Jimmy lost his mind almost immediately. “How the hell did you get in here, freak?!” he shouted, shaking as he held onto the boy. “_Why _are you here?!”

The man—_Lucifer Morningstar_—ignored him completely, glancing around the room before he seemed to finally see her behind him. “Oh, there you are! I was wondering if there were technical difficulties with the Mark!” he cried enthusiastically, turning fully towards her. “Now, what are you doing here with this sweaty little cockroach?”

_After thirty years…I’m seeing his face_, she thought in awe, blinking up at him. He was handsome, in a perfectly coiffed kind of way. Thick, dark hair was slicked to the side in a trendy swoop, his stubble _just_ long enough to be naughty, yet easy to maintain. Exceedingly direct brown eyes bore into hers, creating a small pull in her head to tell him something, anything. His smile was dazzling, just as she remembered it. There was a halo of light shining from behind his head as he peered down at her.

But that didn’t change the fact that he had been _interfering with her investigation_ for the _entire day_.

“I’ll get back to you once I’m done _arresting _Jimmy Barnes,” she hissed, putting her hand to his shoulder to push him away. He didn’t budge a bit, but she did enjoy the expression of shock on his face. “Move.”

A gunshot rang out and blinding pain spread through her shoulder, flinging her to the floor as she gasped for breath. Some part of her brain knew that she had been shot, but all she could think was, _I don’t want to die_.

The man in the suit—he’d protected her for _so long_—crouched over her, muttering, “Bloody hell,” as his hand went to her face. “You aren’t supposed to die here.”

Choking on blood that was rising in her throat, she breathed, “I’m not ready to die.”

More shots rang out as her vision started growing dark. _Three more shots. He’s taking those shots._

“I will be right back, Detective,” Lucifer growled, lurching as he took another shot, “once I squash the cockroach.” He stood easily, straightening his suit as more shots rang out.

As she lost consciousness, one phrase stood out in her head.

_Six shots. He took six shots at point blank range._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this! I'm working on Chapter Two, but we'll have to see what happens with Thanksgiving next week.


	3. I Can Be Gentle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe wakes up in the hospital and Lucifer finds an easier way to hold up his end of the bargain with his dad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long wait! I hope everyone had wonderful holidays and brought in the new decade however they saw fit! Please enjoy!

Chloe’s eyes opened to blinding lights, beeping machines, and sterile white all around her. There was something in her nose that was uniquely unpleasant, but she didn’t have the strength to remove it. At her either side of her bed, she could pick out two distinct voices, though they were hushed as though not to disturb her.

“…very lucky….”

“…an inch to the left and she wouldn’t have pulled through….”

“…still shouldn’t have….”

“…must have…on her side….”

Were they discussing her or someone else? If it was someone else, why were they disturbing her with it? She was so tired; she would just close her eyes for a minute….

Shifting her head, her eyes locked on a dark shadow in the corner, startling at the sight. The others seemed to pay it no mind; truth be told, it was almost like they hadn’t noticed it yet. But it stood there in the corner, watching her.

Focusing with all her fleeting willpower, she was able to bring the blurry vision into the spotlight in her mind.

_It’s the man in the suit,_ she thought, feeling comforted despite the fact that she had a nagging twinge in the back of her mind that told her to be wary. _The _real_ one,_ she believed serenely, imagining he smiled at her while her world drowned in black.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Lucifer was bloody exhausted by the time the Guardian’s Mark stopped aching, grinding his teeth from behind the doctors that had declared her “lucky”. Between using long forgotten powers—one didn’t _heal_ the mortal souls _in Hell_—and keeping himself hidden from the humans—another thing he hadn’t attempted in eons—his celestial well was _dry_. As complex as Father had made the human circulatory system, the Fallen Angel had had difficulty finding and repairing all the things that the bullet had torn, while at the same time keeping her damnable heart beating.

“A detective!” he chuckled ironically as he glared across the room at her. He thought he saw her gaze find him but was too flustered to mind. With a foreboding smirk, he shook his head and added, “A _homicide_ detective at that!”

Fury ate him, barely able to contain it. This was his Father further toying with him, taunting him as if to say he wasn’t capable.

Turning his face towards the sky, the twisted grin melted away into a vicious snarl, red eyes flaring as his handsome visage wavered into something sinister and grotesque. “I’m not afraid of Your challenge, _Dad_! Whatever scheme You think to trap me into, I _suggest_ You _think again_.”

His attention went back to the woman on the hospital bed, letting the steady beat of the heart monitor calm him.

_Chloe Jane Decker_ had been targeted since she was a child. Her would-be executioners had been easy enough to dispose of, and they’d been glad to tell him that it was to do with her father’s murder. As he’d done in Hell, he made sure to give them their _just desserts_, even the disgusting warden who had hatched the entire scheme. Mazikeen had been quite useful in it all, despite wanting nothing to do with Dad’s _miracle child_.

But he couldn’t help wondering what Father was plotting. He had to know that Chloe would become a homicide detective, that she would constantly be in danger; was that why He sent Lucifer to watch over her? Even a Fallen Archangel was no slouch when it came to being a bodyguard.

He just needed to know why his _Father_ needed _her_.

“What are You bloody planning?” he wondered quietly, unknowingly speaking aloud as he crossed the room not of his own volition. Eyeing her, he looked for a Divine Mark of some sort, the way Father often branded His Prophets. Finding none, he asked the unconscious mortal, “What do _you_ have to do with this?”

With no answer forthcoming—even awake, she wouldn’t be able to comprehend the Divine—he hissed out an annoyed breath, letting his wings expand in the tiny space before disappearing in a rustle of feathers.

-.-.-.-.-.-

_Malcolm Alexander Graham, fifteen-thousand five-hundred eighty seven days old. Los Angeles County Hospital, room three-oh-seven._

More facts about the soul rattled through Azrael’s brain as she extended her wings to take flight. Not all souls needed her to guide them; most found their way just fine. She was always stuck explaining Death to the confused ones or making sure the ones who _should_ feel guilty ended up at the Gates of Hell. It was strange how the sight of Hell could make even the most narcissistic psychopaths begin to regret their disgusting actions.

She sighed as she appeared in the dark corner of the hospital room. A middle-aged woman and a teenage boy sat on opposite sides of the bed, clearly mother and son. She sobbed into a mostly-used tissue while the boy stoically stared at the unmoving body on the bed. _Malcolm Graham_, she noted, _about to be taken off life support. Will fight the pull of Hell._

Rolling her shoulders and cracking her neck, the tiny Angel prepared herself. Even though she was a Celestial—and, therefore, _much_ stronger than a human body, much less an incorporeal _soul_—her time as the Angel of Death had taught her to _never _underestimate a mortal.

Humans were aware that they would die someday; it was an inevitability. But there were always those that were terrified to ever face that certainty, would do _anything_ to postpone it.

Something told her that he would be one of the ones she wouldn’t be able to talk down.

_“Just let us know when you’re ready, Mrs. Graham,”_ the doctor said kindly, his weathered face a perfect blend of professionalism and empathy. _“Take all the time you need.”_

The wife nodded weakly, giving a trumpeting blow into her Kleenex. _“I-I think we-we’re…r-r-r-ready,”_ she sobbed, reaching across the bed to take her son’s hand and squeeze it tightly, seeking the comfort of her offspring. _“W-we h-ha-have to let him g-g-g-go!”_

Her sobs echoed to the Angel as if she was a neighbor beyond a thin wall, much as it always did. Azrael wasn’t like her other siblings; she had to focus if she wanted to be seen by humans or even just walk Earth without the shroud of the afterlife. She was separated by a veil from them, standing directly on the line of life and death.

_“Mom,”_ the boy murmured, squeezing her hand in return, _“we’re just dragging it on.”_

Over the eons, Azrael had lost the ability to feel for most mortal creatures. Most of the souls she ushered to their Afterlife were mourned; it didn’t change that their time had come. Besides, she simply went where the names took her.

The nurse and doctor nodded at one another, going to either side of the bed and turning off various machines. Tensing, she listened to the heart monitor briefly speed up as the body fought to breathe before stopping altogether. In that moment, she felt the pull of the soul, desperately trying to hold on to its body.

“It’s too late,” she said, stepping from the shadows towards the tar-like soul dripping to the floor. “You’ve already died.”

_No, I can’t be dead. This was never supposed to happen!_

Rolling her eyes with a groan, she muttered, “Look, dude, I’m just doing my job. My Dad gave me strict orders and I don’t like to piss Him off, okay? You think I _like_ doing this job?” Not for the first time—and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, either—Azrael felt the pull annoyance and anger in the pit of her stomach. She just wanted to _do her job_ and these souls had to act like they didn’t know they would one day depart the mortal realm.

_I’m not dead. I’m not dead. I’m not dead._

Growling in frustration, she opened her wings threateningly as she took a step forward. “Don’t make this any harder on yourself than it already is. Just accept that you _died_ and follow where your soul leads you.”

_Never!_

She reached into the goo, feeling for that tiny human part that would call the rest of it to follow, the thing that kept all the mess together.

These were the kinds of souls she hated, the slimy ones, the ones that resisted the pull of Hell. Only the rotten ones got to this consistency, those people who _should_ feel guilt but instead spent their time duping themselves into thinking they had a right, explaining it away as someone else’s fault. Hitler and Stalin came to mind. Of course, they had been much more sludge-y, much harder to find the piece of humanity within them, but that was beside the point.

She much preferred those souls that were resisting the pull of Heaven. They were light, airy, weighing themselves down with useless guilt—losing someone without saying that last “I love you” or “I’m sorry” or accidentally running over a neighbor’s dog—and reaching into them was like feeling _home_, a little slice of the Silver City that she rarely got to visit.

“This is your last chance,” she insisted, authority ringing in her voice. “Go on your own or else I’ll bring you there myself.”

_Never_, the soul snarled. _I’m going to _live_._

Hissing, Azrael snatched at the small bit of solidness within the grime and _yanked_. With all her considerable strength, she pulled it through the floors, through the ground. The tar dripped after it, clearly fighting to the pull of its very core to struggle towards its cooling mortal body.

But the heat of Hell was already burning at her lower half; there was nowhere else for it to _go._

“Here you go,” she snarled, “into the Hell Loop you go!” With a great heave, she tossed the center of the soul through the barrier of Hell, knowing it was too late for the rot to do anything but follow. Once a soul was passed the barrier, they would land in their room. “I need a long bath,” she muttered, turning towards the heavens as she shook the residual sludge from her hands theatrically.

_Stop._

She immediately froze, shocked by the voice that echoed in her head as it spoke in Enochian. It had been _millennia _since her Father had chosen to speak to her and _this_ soul was the one that had Him finally breaking the silence?

It was gross, sure, but it wasn’t _The Worst Ever_. It wasn’t even the worst _that day_.

_Retrieve the mortal soul and put it back within its body. It is part of My Plan._

Turning a look down into the Pits, she murmured, “But…I’ve already sent him to his Loop. I thought—”

_I need the mortal; return it to Earth._

Shivering at the cold power behind His voice, Azrael could do nothing more than pass through the barrier, entering Hell to hesitantly grab the soul once again. It was already manic, starving for food, flesh, water, entertainment. It wasn’t often she had to enter a Hell Loop and it always freaked her out when she did.

What had only been seconds to her had been _years_ to this Damned soul, had already managed to twist it into something even more desperate than it had once been.

Though she didn’t like to question her Father, the Angel of Death wondered what God could possibly have in store for something so demented, so…_wrong_.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Chloe awoke to white and the smell of disinfectant. Her stomach rumbled, her shoulder ached, and even her eyes were heavy. She wanted nothing more than to fall back into her painless dreams of the man in the suit saving her, protecting her with those beautiful white feathers of his.

She groaned and tried to shift but couldn’t find the strength.

“I would suggest you take it easy, _Detective_,” a voice purred from the opposite side of the room. “You were shot in the shoulder, you know.”

Too quickly, her head jerked towards the sound, her vision immediately dotting with darkness. “Wh-what happened?” she asked, trying to piece together the events that had led to her recognizing that voice and being…annoyed? “Where…where am I?”

“The hospital, my dear. You were shot almost two days ago,” an approaching shadow said easily, like he was talking about whether it would rain. “Seems you’ve pulled through, however, so I must take my leave. Places to see, people to do, you know.”

On instinct, she raised her hand, crying, “Wait!” She tried to focus on the halted figure, letting her eyes become accustomed to her surroundings even as her head throbbed. What had she been doing that got her _shot_? Who was the man? Why was he there?

He waited a few moments in silence as his face came into focus. Dark stubble lined a strong jaw, a perfectly sculpted black eyebrow raised slightly to signal he was listening impatiently. Brown eyes flashed as she narrowed her own in confusion, trying to remember his _name_. He towered over her in the hospital bed, exuding the same powerful aura as a panther: lithe and lethal. The clearly expensive, fitted suit gave him the air of a young mob boss, a man with the resources to make any problem he might have disappear.

“Yes?” he finally asked politely in that cultured accent, though there was a tic at his temple that she read immediately as impatience. “You had something to say?”

She opened her mouth, but didn’t know where to start, what burning question to ask first. Who was he? Why was he in her hospital room? Who shot her? Why did they shoot her? Had anyone told Trixie that she was going to be okay?

As she gaped at him, trying to figure out what to say, he rolled his eyes. “Humans…bloody _hell_.”

And suddenly…she remembered. Trying to play catch-up all day, three rings on the phone before an answering voice, getting shot by Jimmy Barnes, _Lucifer freaking Morningstar._ All it took was that implication that he was _not_ human, and it all came rushing back in a flurry of irritation and disgust.

Deciding to push down the reminder of shooting pains in her side, the knowledge that she was going to _die_—at least until she could speak to her therapist—she turned to her anger at _him_. “_You_,” she snarled, struggling to sit up in the bed even though she knew she wouldn’t be able to stand. “You interfered with my _murder investigation_ and nearly got yourself killed!”

He blinked at her, confusion passing quickly over his handsome features before a smirk chased it away. “Darling,” he purred, putting his hands in his pockets as he leaned slightly towards the foot of her bed, “I had no idea you _cared_!”

She raised a shaky finger at him. “Shut up, _Lucifer_. You should _never_ have gotten involved! You could have been shot—” She cut off at the memory of her own inner voice echoing, _“Six shots.”_

Immediately, Chloe began searching for any sign that he was hurt. Even a graze would have him limping for a few days, though she was sure he had been shot multiple times in the back. But as he gently rocked from heel to toe with a devilish grin on his face, he showed no discomfort.

“I can strip for you, if you’d like,” he murmured, something in his eyes shifting with what might have been charm if he wasn’t so…smarmy. He removed his hands from his pockets, letting his arms spread wide. “I don’t believe you’ve been given the okay for…_vigorous_ activity, but I can be gentle.”

When his fingers went to the lapel of his suit jacket, she put both hands in front of her face quickly, instantly feeling the tug at her stitches. She gave a sharp cry, surprised when he groaned in return. “Stop that!” he demanded, face twisting in pain as one hand reached over his shoulder to clutch at his back. “You’re going to reopen your stitches!”

“Then don’t be so weird!” she cried, squeezing her eyes closed as her right hand clutched her injured arm in distress. “God, that _hurts_!”

“Why even bring Him up?!” he shouted in return, doubled over as he scratched at his shoulder blade. “Press the button for the nurses! They need to check your wound!” He was panting as his eyes sought hers as he fell to first one knee, then the other. “_Buzz the bloody nurse_!”

His words made her realize that she had, in fact, opened her stitches and now she was bleeding. Normally, this wouldn’t be worrying, but she didn’t know how much blood she’d already lost. Blindly, she grabbed for the remote, cracking an eye just wide enough to make out the Big Red Button, slamming her finger on it. The edge of her vision began to darken, her head falling back against the pillows as fatigue overwhelmed her.

In what could have been seconds or hours, nurses and a doctor appeared at her side, loosening her gown to check her shoulder. Then some words were said, and she felt warmth spreading from her IV through her entire arm, numbing the pain.

As her vision began to swim, she glanced to the spot Lucifer had been standing, opening her mouth to ask the doctors and nurses to check on _him_.

But there was no sign he had even been there.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Two weeks later, Chloe was released from the hospital into Dan and her mother’s care. Even though it had been a _chest wound_, the nurses had insisted on putting her in a wheelchair to leave the building. Her mother—who had just flown in—fretted over her while Chloe’s ex-husband tried to run interference on her behalf.

The ride home was slow—thanks to Dan driving like a snail, making her grit her teeth—and quiet except for a random, “Are you okay, sweetheart?” from her mother, the sight of Penelope’s bungalow making her sigh in relief.

“Mommy!” Trixie cried from the front step as they pulled into the driveway, tears glittering in her eyes as she tore away from Olga’s strong grip to fling herself into the backseat at her mother.

Chloe gave a small grunt but took the pain if it meant finally burying her face in her daughter’s hair at home. “Hey, Monkey,” she murmured into the smell of Elsa kids’ shampoo. “I missed you.”

“You have to be careful, Trix,” Dan said as he kindly pulled their daughter away, leaving Chloe feeling instantly bereft. “Mom is still healing; we have to be gentle with her.”

As Trixie’s arms loosened, Chloe once again had to clench her jaw against the annoyance that was quickly becoming anger. Sure, she was tender, but that didn’t mean she was _fragile_; she could decide when her daughter was holding her too tight. And it drove her nuts to have both her _mother_ and _ex-husband_ treating her like glass.

So, she shook off their helping hands, instead taking Trixie’s hand in her own, striding into the house with her head held high. When they suggested that she go rest, she refused, cuddling up on the couch under her favorite afghan as her daughter rattled off movie options—all starring the newest cartoon characters.

From there on, Chloe gave the two thorns in her side a firm cold-shoulder treatment until they got the idea…for the most part. They still insisted on doting on her—bringing her dinner to her on a TV tray, keeping the water jug the hospital had sent home with her topped off with ice water at all times, even helping her into the bathroom at one point—but at least they were quiet about it and let her have some much needed snuggle time with her baby girl.

A few hours later, with dinner and bedtime under their belts, she thanked Dan for picking her up from the hospital as he left for the night, refusing Penelope Decker’s help to bed even though she was exhausted and, in all honesty, could probably use a helping hand.

But her bed felt _so_ nice, especially once her mother tucked that last corner under her far shoulder, something she allowed only because she was already falling asleep.

She would never admit aloud that she actually kind of liked being the one taken care of.

-.-.-.-.-.-

“You nearly _killed_ her, Lucifer!” Amenadiel raged, throwing his arms in the air, veins pulsing in his temples and neck in the light of the fireplace. “All for some vulgar _joke_?! I can’t believe Father ever—”

“Oh, _shut up_, brother!” Lucifer returned furiously from his spot at the bar of his penthouse, slamming his scotch. “I thought you would be happy to know the Mark is bloody working and Dad’s precious miracle is safe!” Pointing a glare into his brother’s mirrored scowl, the Devil idly wondered if Amenadiel’s body would spontaneously combust.

It would be worth the cost of bringing professional cleaners into the penthouse if he did.

A stark laugh rang through the open layout. “She nearly _died_ because of you! Why would you renege on a deal with _Father_?”

Well, that irked mostly because a) he would _always_ uphold his end of a bargain and b) he had actually _thought about_ doing so with his Father’s. Was he really so transparent?

Amenadiel went on a rant then, full of pacing and intermittent raging and muttering that Lucifer didn’t pay the least bit mind to. Instead, he went over his strange encounter with the woman his Father had needed _him_ to watch over.

He didn’t understand it. Though he hadn’t known _exactly_ what to expect, Chloe Decker was the opposite of anything he could have come up with. He’d been sure that she was some sort of femme fatale, always in danger and loving it. Perhaps he’d let his mind wander to a potential missing royal of some sort; it would explain why she’d been targeted by assassins as a child and why she was so special in Dad’s Grand Scheme.

Instead, she was a _homicide detective_. What was _that_?

And she had shouted at him for putting _himself _in danger?!

“Have you even heard a _word_ of what I’ve been saying?” the Angel in his penthouse groused, catching Lucifer’s attention once again. He half-turned in his stool to watch his brother, who seemed to have burnt himself out. “This is _serious_, Luci. Dad isn’t going to be happy if you try to find a loophole in this.”

“I’m not looking for any loopholes,” Lucifer returned, casually eyeing his lowball glass.

Amenadiel let loose a disbelieving guffaw before asking, “You mean like you’ve been doing for the last thirty years? Sure, the Guardian Mark warns you when she’s in danger, but human lives can end in the blink of an eye! One second they’re merely in danger, the next they’re bleeding out on the sidewalk!”

That was when everything clicked into place, and the Devil wondered how he could have missed such an obvious solution. He’d seen buddy cop movies and procedural TV shows—millions of them!—and they all pointed to one way to keep a detective safe.

Lucifer stood, grinning as he faced his brother. “You’re _exactly _right, Amenadiel!” He turned away, already scheming how to get what he wanted, murmuring quietly to straighten things out.

“Why do I feel like I’m not going to like whatever you’re planning?” the Angel asked, exasperation blatant in his tone.

“Don’t worry, brother,” the Devil brushed off quickly, his mind having nearly completely drifted to his plan as he grabbed his suit jacket off the back of his couch. “I’m going to do as you think I should have from the very beginning!”

Eyeing his brother’s back suspiciously, Amenadiel asked, “And what is that?”

-.-.-.-.-.-

Chloe wasn’t _excited_ for desk duty for a month, but she certainly wasn’t going to complain. There was something…comforting about getting everything in its place, in order. Especially after her brush with death, the residual ache in her shoulder a reminder of just how close she had been to death.

Thankfully, she’d learned her lesson the last time she’d nearly died in a hail of bullets: don’t tell your superiors about a man making it out of a firefight without a scratch. Instead, she would just pretend it never happened; investigating something so crazy would only manage to get her fired. Or institutionalized.

But it still irked her that she hadn’t been able to question Mr. Morningstar before he’d disappeared into the shadows of LUX, refusing phone calls and meetings. If she hadn’t been casing the place, she might have thought that he’d skipped town, moving elsewhere to escape the heat she _knew_ she should bring down on him. If only she could figure out how he’d taken six shots to the back and lived to tell the tale….

“Decker!”

The lieutenant’s voice carried across the bullpen, the ambitious woman’s tone demanding immediate reaction. Chloe wasn’t _not_ a fan of Lieutenant Olivia Monroe, but she also wasn’t…you know, a _fan_. She was politically motivated. Highly visible cases were put first, though that didn’t mean she didn’t care whether the others were solved; they were still a part of her close rate, after all. But she always managed to be the face of the Homicide Division when a particularly high-profile case closed, taking credit for _her_ LAPD.

Still, Olivia didn’t inspire the trust from the citizens that she would need to become commissioner.

That didn’t mean that Chloe didn’t have to listen to her summons, however. The lieutenant was in charge whether the detective liked her or not, and it was better to just respond quickly and respectfully and move on from there.

So, only five minutes into her first day back, Chloe shouted, “Coming, Lieutenant!” across the room, dumping all her things (except the Starbucks she desperately needed) at her desk before striding towards the corner office.

Immediately recognizing the drawn shades and closed door for what they were, she hesitantly knocked on the glass, wondering what could possibly be going on. A quick glance around the room told her that many of her fellow officers were trying to put together the same thing.

Quickly, Olivia opened the door, barely glancing at Chloe before ushering her in, saying, “Come in, Decker.” The instant the detective crossed the threshold, her boss lightly closed the door once again, seeming nervous as she smoothed her skirt to take a seat at her desk. “Sit. Please,” she added as if for the first time in her life realizing she needed to be polite. “Mr. Morningstar and I have something we need to—”

“Mr. Morningstar?” Chloe interrupted as her eyes fell on the chair next to the offered one, the irritatingly hard to find man she’d been looking for in the last two weeks smiling serenely at her. Fury made her forget where she was and she hissed, “You’re _too busy_ to meet me for two weeks and now you’re calling me into the principal’s office for a meeting? What the hell is wrong with you?”

Olivia gave a discreet cough to get attention back on her before a saccharine smile tightened her lips across her face. It might have been attractive if it wasn’t so…pained. “Well, no matter what may have…happened between the two of you—”

“Ew!” Chloe groaned, putting a hand up in Lucifer’s direction as she addressed her boss. “Absolutely not; who knows what kind of diseases he has!”

“I beg your pardon?” he said, clearly shocked as he rose slowly from the chair to his full height. “I can assure you, _Detective,_ I can’t contract any of the human diseases, though I’m much more responsible with my affairs than that!”

She rolled her eyes at her, crossing her arms over her chest. “Oh, I’m so sure. You propositioned me _while I was in a hospital bed after I’d been shot_!”

“I _said_ I would be gentle—”

“Enough!” Olivia interrupted authoritatively, slapping her hands on her desk as she rose abruptly. Her eyes cut to Chloe, a message clear within their depths. “I don’t know and I don’t care whether something did or did not happen between you two. All I care about is that Mr. Morningstar has offered to help us gather information on a _very_ public case. And since _you _haven’t been cleared for the field, I want _you_ to be his handler.”

At Chloe’s horrified expression, Lucifer smirked, leaning close to murmur, “I wouldn’t want to be…_handled_ by anyone else.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, January is going to be a very busy month for me between work and family, and I'm not sure if I'll be able to update as quickly as I'd like. Thank you in advance for your patience!


	4. The Miracle Detective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer volunteers his time to the LAPD on an ongoing case, sharing with Chloe that he's doing it to protect her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's taken much longer than I anticipated. A lot of things have happened in my life for the last few months (the COVID 19 outbreak just added even more stress to my life). I will be explaining fully in the end of chapter notes.
> 
> Please forgive me if this chapter isn't quite up to my usual. Again, this will all be explained at the end of the chapter.

Chloe knew she should be paying attention to all the information Dan was trying to give her, but she was too focused on her new “temporary consultant”.

He just sat there in the chair across from her, legs crossed, back straight with perfect posture, hands folded neatly on top of his knee. As with the last few times she’d seen him, he was exceptionally put together, not one hair out of place or a speck of lint to be seen.

Somehow, Lucifer Morningstar made her feel underdressed…while they were sitting at _her _desk. Normally, she wouldn’t even think about the hastily bound bun that kept her hair off her face or the fact that she had had to change into her workout shirt after discovering her thin sweater had the remnants of ketchup from the last time she’d worn it.

But everything about him _screamed _confidence, from the polite smile on his face to the eerie stillness with which he held himself. He knew his place in the world and it seemed to be much higher than her station.

It made her irrationally angry to have thought for even a moment that this _asshole_ was the man she’d met in her childhood. Besides the fact that the man had actually been _considerate_, there was no way this club owner was more than a few years older than her, and she was _sure_ the other man had been about the same age as Lucifer was now almost thirty years before.

Yet there was still some bell ringing in her mind with familiarity, like he was a friend from high school she just happened to run into.

“Chloe, are you even listening to me?”

Her gaze cut to Dan, noting that the club owner’s easy smile quickly became a smirk, and held out her good hand. “Just give me the file and I’ll figure it out,” she answered harshly, snatching the papers from his outstretched hand. “Mr. Morningstar and I already have a lot to figure out since he’s _consulting_, and I’ll remember it better if I read it myself.”

“I wouldn’t call me a ‘consultant’ so much as ‘bait’, Detective,” the man sitting across from her purred, glancing towards her ex-husband to add, “Clearly she’s distracted by me, but don’t fret, Detective Douche, all women are.” His head turned back to her, a smile on his face. “I know it will be a bit disrupting working with me, but I assure you, we will have _many_ late nights to work through your fixation.”

Ignoring the stupefied sound of Dan choking and barely containing her own gag, Chloe tried to move on from the subject gracefully. “As much as I would _love_ to physically disabuse you of that notion, I think we have more important things to discuss than you being a pervert.”

“Just letting you know it’s on the table, Detective. Or the desk, if you prefer.”

Slamming her hand on top of the file as Dan started to growl, she quickly said, “Thank you, Dan; I think I can handle it from here.”

The other detective shot her a dark look as Lucifer gave him the full force of a self-satisfied smirk, his eyes telling her this wasn’t over even though she was absolutely sure _it definitely was_. When she didn’t say anything, he snarled, “This is a case we’ve been working on for years. It’s on _you_ if _he_ screws it all up because he can’t pull his head out of his ass.”

“Well, well, well, you two are certainly amicable,” Lucifer noted as Dan stormed off, rising and pulling his jacket closed. “Now that _that_ unpleasantness is over, maybe you and I should take this to my penthouse where we can be more comfortable.”

“Absolutely not,” she answered easily, turning her attention to the file in front of her so as not to _punch him in the face_. “What _I _am going to do is go over all of this, figure out a way for _you_ to make yourself useful, then get this over with as quickly as possible so my life can go back to being Lucifer-less.”

He merely chuckled. “I’m _almost_ sorry to say that this won’t be the last you’re seeing of me, Detective.” Her head swung up, mouth already open to demand an explanation, but he trudged on, sliding on to the edge of her desk gracefully. “After two weeks of hounding me constantly, don’t you want to reach a conclusion for everything? Don’t you want to know all my secrets?”

Staring into his eyes, she felt a slight pull at the back of her mind, some small part of her that might have wanted to tell him, even if all it did was stroke his ego. She searched his gaze, looking for something there that might give her some clue as to what he was playing at. Weighing her options, she said carefully, “Oh, I plan on finding out all your secrets. I just don’t necessarily need to be around you to figure it out.”

Face twisting in confusion, Lucifer quickly covered it, leaning forward. “I should have known Father made you a little more complicated than the others,” he murmured, his grin softening into something almost sensual and almost convincingly kind. “Come now, Detective, you can ask me anything. I promise to answer.”

Chloe wondered if that really worked for him enough that he was confident she would do as he wanted her to. After all her training—not to mention her movie star mother—she’d learned to look past how someone chose to present themselves, to keep her focus on the little things that someone couldn’t fake. From the way they talked to what they focused on in a room, she had learned young how to figure them out.

So why was he so hard to read? Even ignoring the whole named-for-the-Devil thing, he spoke with an air of superiority, like he had no idea why anyone wouldn’t do exactly what he wanted. Unfortunately, he didn’t give off the usual signs of sociopathy or classic narcissism, though he was definitely full of himself. He seemed to genuinely care about at least a few people; he’d taken it upon himself to step into the Delilah murder investigation, all because she’d worked for him just a few months years before.

Which meant that, _somehow,_ she was going to have to figure out all his metaphors to understand the first thing about him, to piece together the puzzle.

In that moment, she decided to fight fire with fire. If he thought that he could charm his way into whatever he might be thinking in his head, then why couldn’t she?

Gently closing the folder, she leaned her head on her hand, giving him her best smile. “You promise?” she purred, letting her gaze drift down him in what could have been construed as flirting. But she noted how he immediately relaxed minutely, as if he wasn’t _completely _sure of himself. “Any question I want to ask?”

He leaned closer as she did, his face hovering above hers as his eyes dipped to her lips. “You have my word, Detective,” he murmured, voice husky and dark. A shiver ran up her spine that he nearly noticed, a part of her wanting _very much_ to give in. “Anything.”

For a long moment, she thought about what it would be like to do as his voice suggested, to throw caution to the wind. It had been awhile. And he _was_ handsome, if arrogant. Though she’d never had a one-night stand, she’d be lying if she said that he didn’t make her think about it, at least for a moment.

But she was an adult and knew better than to take a chance with the temptation he was offering. There were many things she wanted; didn’t mean she was going to get them.

Clearing her throat, she turned her face back to the folder, reminding herself that this was her _job_ and this guy _acted like he was the Devil._ “So, why me?” she asked easily, keeping her focus on the papers in front of her. “After dodging me for two weeks, you decide you have to help the LAPD and you need _me_?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught him blinking rapidly in shock as he straightened on the side of her desk. He studied her—she could feel his stare, even as she carefully pretended to read—before speaking again, clearing his throat. “Well,” he started, the sound of him aggressively shaking out his jacket emphasizing the one word, “I made a bargain to protect you. I decided that the best way to do that would be to accompany you on your cases. That took a certain amount of…persuasion, and I have been focusing on that for the past few weeks.”

“What?” she asked incredulously, looking back to him.

He seemed shocked for just a breath, as if he _wasn’t_ expecting her to question that. “Why do you think I came to you when Jimmy Barnes pulled his gun, Detective?” he asked with a short chuckle. “It certainly wasn’t because I had a peculiar interest in bullet-hole fashion. Armani really speaks for itself without adding ridiculous accessories.”

Cradling her injured arm as his words brought back the phantom pain of the shot, Chloe leaned back in her chair, subconsciously acknowledging her need to back away from him. “How did you get away if you were shot? Who did you _bargain_ with to protect me?” _Keep your cool, you’re in a police station. If he’s a stalker, you can have a dozen officers on him with one scream_.

Now, he laughed outright, similar to hers when Trixie said something utterly innocent yet hilarious. “I know you humans like to act as if I’m just some eccentric billionaire, changing his name for notoriety, but I assure you, every last one of you is more than aware of me, have been since the beginning of your species.”

“Are you trying to say that you’re _actually_ the _Devil_?” she questioned quietly, aware of exactly where the weapon holstered at her side was. “And that _that_ has something to do with why you’re a part of this case?”

“I most certainly wouldn’t waste my time with petty criminals otherwise, Detective. I have more important matters to deal with.” At her sharp look, he waved his hand dismissively. “No offense meant, of course, to our lady in blue.”

How could he manage to irritate her when she should be calling for a psych eval on him? “You injected yourself into the Delilah case pretty quickly; was that your ‘more important’ matters?”

Suddenly, the room felt stiflingly hot and the air became crushingly heavy, weighing on her as she watched something dark pass over his handsome features, twisting them briefly into a mask of burned and scarred skin. If asked, she would have sworn until properly medicated that his eyes became a fire-red void to match an evil smirk that marred his face like a festering wound.

“Oh, Detective, that was _punishment_,” he purred, though there was a deep intone that seemed to echo the words as his facets returned to normal faster than a blink. “Something that I have become very, _very_ well-versed in.”

Without further ado, he stood, fixing his jacket and straightening his cuffs. As he pulled at his collar, he said, “Now, I believe you have a lot of reading to do if we are to do this right, so I will leave you to your studies.”

Before she could even open her mouth, he was off, strolling through the precinct with his hands in his pockets as if he owned the building.

It took a full half hour of trying to read the file for Chloe to realize that her heart was still beating rapidly in her chest.

-.-

_This could become a problem,_ Lucifer thought once he was back in his penthouse, holding a tumbler of aged scotch in his hand. His Father certainly hadn’t pulled any punches in creating the lovely Detective Chloe Decker, making sure that His son wouldn’t have the _easiest_ job protecting her.

But that was a moot point; he just had to convince her to leave her current employment. Then _maybe_ his wings would stop itching as they had since that day in the hospital. Clearly, she was still in danger, and he could only blame it on her choice of vocation.

So, he would “inject”, as she put it, himself into an investigation, and show her exactly why there was no reason she should be a part of any of it. If there was any sign of trouble, at least he’d be in the thick of it to keep her out of trouble.

“Mazikeen?” he called at the sound of the elevator. When there was no response, he turned his head from where he sat at the bar, his eyes drifting up from his glass to find himself looking at both his brother _and_ the demon. “Fuck,” he muttered, downing the glass before standing. He’d long since lost his jacket, but he still made a show of fixing the pristine white shirt that had been beneath it.

Amenadiel crossed his arms over his chest, luckily having found the time to change out of his idiotic Silver City robe into a somewhat reasonable dark grey t-shirt and dark jeans. “How’s this _plan_ of yours going, Lucifer?” he asked sarcastically.

Rolling his eyes, the younger Angel answered, “Ye of little faith, brother.” He turned attention to his right-hand demon, smiling warmly as his hands clapped together. “Mazikeen! So glad you were clearly discussing this with the party pooper before coming to me with whatever concern you’re about to bring to me.”

She didn’t even have the good grace to look the least bit apologetic. Of course, he was talking to a _demon_, but she was supposed to be his closest friend. “You know I think you should blow off this deal,” she started, holding up a hand when Amenadiel started to say something in return, “but if you think putting yourself out there with the humans is the right call, maybe you should listen to _reason_ on this.”

The Devil burst into laughter at that, putting his hand to the bartop to keep himself upright as his eyes threatened to fill with mirthful tears. “Oh, and _Amenadiel_ is the voice of reason, hmm?”

As he slowly came back to his senses, Maze said, “You know that, normally, I’d tell the bird-brain to go straight to Hell, but this is important, Lucifer.” She waited until he finally stood up straight, wiping at his undereye dramatically, before continuing. “Whether you are going to go through with this deal with your Dad or not, you can’t be running around with humans. You’re _the Lord of Hell_.”

With a glance to the demon, Amenadiel added, “You can’t _put_ Chloe Decker in danger to get her to leave her occupation. Everything is a part of Father’s Plan—”

Scoffing, Lucifer reached behind the bar, snatching up another bottle of booze to pour himself a glass. “Yes, yes, yes, we’re all _well_ aware that Father has some master Plan for the universe, but He _did_ make a deal that I could do whatever I felt necessary to protect her,” he said, sipping at his drink and watching his brother’s thunderous expression from above the lip of the glass. “So Father’s _Plan_ really has no leg to stand on. Literally as well as metaphorically, of course.”

Dropping his arms from his sides, the older of the Angels tensed, taking a hostile step forward, snarling through gritted teeth, “Remember that Father could have _any_ Guardian do this; if you anger Him, He’ll send you straight back to Hell—”

“Then why give me the job in the first place?” Lucifer demanded, fingers tightening on the tumbler. He strode to put himself face to face with Amenadiel, hissing, “Surely our _good_ and _loving_ Father wouldn’t give me a job He _knew_ I wouldn’t be able to fulfill! Besides, if He could give just _any_ Guardian Angel a whack at it, why would His first choice be to offer it to His _Fallen_ son and not, say, the oldest of His children?”

The other Angel snarled viciously, his face contorting with uncontrolled rage as Lucifer had intended. There was nothing better than forcing his brother to feel the pain of knowing their Father _still_ didn’t trust him with the important matters He laid at the Devil’s feet.

Smiling with unrestrained, dark glee, the King of Hell threw his glass across the room, into the fireplace where it shattered. Flames exploding theatrically, Lucifer murmured, “That’s right, _brother_. Your eons of being the dutiful son have left you with _nothing_ but a babysitting job and not even a pat on the head for a job well done. How many humans still pray to you? How many times have you been _thanked_ for keeping the _evilest_ being since the beginning of time in check?”

In a blur of motion, Amenadiel’s fist connected with Lucifer’s cheek, knocking the Fallen Angel into the barstools. Briefly, he wondered if the sound of the chairs hitting the floor was as satisfying for his brother as it was for him. “That’s right; the only being in the universe capable of turning the holier-than-thou first Angel to violence is trusted with God’s miracle child! And all He sent _you_ to do was broker the deal!”

“Enough!” Maze shouted, getting between the two when they both started towards each other. “As much as I would get off on watching the two of you beat each other to a pulp, we have things to do.” Looking back to Lucifer, she said, “There’s one thing we can agree on: you’re the Lord of Hell, not some human detective. If you don’t want to keep getting interrupted, break the deal.”

“Mazikeen, that’s not on the table—”

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest while turning slowly to Amenadiel. “It’s a win-win; he breaks this deal with dear old _Daddy_, you are the presumptive heir to the Mark, right? Finally, a little recognition for the unappreciated son.”

“Well, that doesn’t solve everything,” Lucifer cut in, righting one of the stools. “If I break the deal, Father will _definitely_ have me returned to Hell and that isn’t a _win_ in my book.” He sat, now wondering why he had tossed perfectly good liquor into the fireplace. Not that he didn’t have more, but…he would have liked to not have to grab another glass. “I happen to _enjoy_ Earth and the life I’ve made for myself here.”

Both the demon and Angel eyed him with indignation and contemplation, respectively. Though he _really_ wanted to know what they were thinking, he kept any remarks to himself, enjoying being the enigma in the situation.

They had, unfortunately, given him something to think about. Before entering the precinct, he’d thought his new plan would be easy to implement. How hard could it be to scare a human off from a job where they could be killed at any time? Besides, this surely wasn’t the greater purpose his Father had planned for the miracle he’d sent to Earth; what was the point in bringing people to “justice” when they would get their _real_ punishment after their death?

Yet Chloe Decker had surprised him, much as she had as a child. Despite the fact he could _hear_ her heart threatening to burst from her chest after his Devil Face had started to manifest, she hadn’t been driven to tears, hadn’t run away screaming. Sure, she’d stared, but that was to be expected considering how monstrous even the _hint_ of that visage was.

He wondered just what exactly his Father was up to in the Silver City as He crafted His Plan. Was the old man more cunning than Lucifer had expected, perhaps even planning for His lost son’s plots? But that still didn’t explain why it was so important that she keep her job with the LAPD. Was there someone she needed to catch, some _new_ big bad out there that He needed her to defeat?

He dismissed the thought as his phone began to ring in his pocket. Glancing at the screen, he smirked broadly, announcing, “Now, I have to take this. If you have a better idea that will _actually_ be a win-win, please, do let me know. For now”—he wiggled his phone for them to see—“I must speak to a detective about a cleaner to the stars.”

Raising the phone to his ear with a jubilant greeting, he turned his back on the pair, striding towards his bedroom as the woman on the other end started explaining whatever she was planning.

-.-

What the hell was she doing, working with a madman? No matter who he might have in his pocket or the real reason that he was so dead set on “protecting” her, she had a choice. She could ditch the case, leave him to be someone else’s problem, and just go on with her desk duty until her shoulder fully healed. They couldn’t _make_ her work with him if she was barely off medical leave, right?

But her curiosity, as usual, was her weakness. She wanted the answers he’d promised her, but the _real_ ones. Seeing as he was sticking obstinately to his Devil persona, Chloe needed more of his metaphors, maybe to do more research on Abrahamic religions to make it easier to understand. Obviously, he was well-versed in the subject, so she needed to be, too.

For now, though, she was sitting in her cruiser outside of the lavish club he called home, looking up towards where she could see the balcony of the penthouse. After their conversation only two hours before, she tried to convince herself, despite what she had _thought_ she’d seen, she was ready to come face to face, to get more of a look into Lucifer’s psyche.

_“Ah, the beautiful Detective Decker! I was just discussing you,” he greeted exuberantly. She could hear voices somewhere beyond the phone, though she couldn’t make out what they were saying._

_ Shaking off the need to ask _why_ he was ‘discussing’ her with anyone, she responded, “We need to meet to go over what’s happening with the Hillman sting. Meet me at the station in an hour.”_

_ “Why bother driving across the city? LUX is much closer to your home than the precinct and we won’t have your offspring underfoot.”_

After nearly fifteen minutes of arguing that it wasn’t a good idea—Ronnie Hillman was known for her aversion to even the _suggestion_ of a police presence—Chloe had finally given in, sensing that it was futile to continue talking to the cement wall she was facing. She had been wary—still was—of his true intentions, knowing full well that he would avoid giving her any straight-forward answers.

So, now she sat outside, watching the balcony as she reminded herself that there was no way she’d seen what she thought she had. Much the same as the winged man that had seemingly saved her from Malcolm and his criminal “contacts”, her mind was playing tricks with her recollection to make it all make sense—at least, if her therapist was anyone to trust.

_Now that Malcolm’s recovering, maybe he can shed some light on what really happened,_ she thought before sighing, grabbing for her door handle. _Probably not. With the investigation still open, he’s going to do anything in his power to distance himself from it._

She could already hear what he would say about everything she’d told Internal Affairs. How could her testimony be trusted when she had first said that there was a man with _wings_ in the middle of the carnage? She was _clearly_ dealing with PTSD, couldn’t see what she thought she had.

_But I _know_ he’s dirty_, she thought to herself, gritting her teeth. _I know he wasn’t there for information or an arrest._

Setting the thought of Palmetto away from her mind—at least until _this_ case was finished—she took a deep breath and opened her door, sliding out of the car. Right now, she had to worry about coaching an untrained civilian into luring a highly dangerous fixer into a police sting; she had to have her eye on the prize.

She entered the building, finding herself alone in the club with a femme fatale bartender, who was eyeing her suspiciously from where she stood with her clipboard. “Hello,” Chloe called with a small smile, raising her hand in a shy wave. “I’m here to see—”

“Lucifer. Yeah, I know. He said to go on up,” the woman answered shortly with a curt nod towards the elevator. With a furrowed, scarred brow, her dark brown eyes trailed after the detective as her footsteps echoed in the eerily empty space.

Just before Chloe could press the button to enter the elevator, a dark hand wrapped around her wrist. Her gaze flew to the other woman’s, surprised at the undisguised hatred there. “What are you—”

“You might be the miracle detective,” she interrupted with a hiss, “and he might have promised not to let anything happen to you. But if all this goes south—as it tends to do when his Dad is involved—I won’t have a problem _destroying_ you. Understand?” Their eyes stayed locked for a long, tense moment before Chloe’s hand was violently released. “He’s waiting for you,” the woman growled, striding back to the bar and her clipboard.

Part of her _really_ wanted to question this bartender/self-proclaimed bodyguard, wanted to tell her that threatening a police officer was a crime. She had an itching need to demand answers—and maybe some _compassion_, since she had _no_ idea what was going on—but thought better of it. There was something about the other woman that told her to tread carefully.

Still, she couldn’t resist asking, “Are you going to at least give me your name so I can warn the other officers of who to look for if I go missing?” as the elevator doors dinged open.

An abrupt chuckle exploded behind her. Turning in the elevator, she was met by the bartender’s dark smirk as the doors started to close. “Mazikeen,” she purred forebodingly. “And, trust me, they can look, but they won’t _find me_.”

-.-

Lucifer pulled his suit into place as the doors slid open, plastering a smile to his face. Even though he had only been able to lure her with the promise of _work_, he was determined to figure out any way to convince the dazzling detective that she wanted to be free from the dangers of her job.

“Hello, Detective!” he greeted cheerfully, gesturing with a small bow towards the bar. “Please, come in, take a load off, maybe have a drink?” Inebriated humans were easier to manipulate and more likely to say whatever came to mind. Besides, he might be able to get her into a much more favorable position after a few glasses of wine. Preferably one that didn’t involve the ugly LAPD T-shirt she wore.

Chloe shot him a dark glare. “I’m not here to play, Mr. Morningstar,” she said authoritatively as she sat in a barstool, dropping the thick file from earlier on the bar. “We have work to do if you’re going to go toe-to-toe with a Hollywood problem-solver.”

He chuckled easily and took the seat beside her, leaning over to grab the bottle of red he’d had the forethought to open before she arrived. “Who says you can’t mix play and work? We’re going to be spending quite a bit of time together anyways; might as well get a few good memories out of the deal,” he retorted casually as he poured them each a glass.

“I don’t drink on the job,” she said as he pushed the glass towards her, glare intensifying. “And you should probably take this seriously; Ronnie Hillman has been implicated in a lot more crimes than just blowing up a car.” She opened the file, skimming through it. “There’s at least half a dozen disappearances and kidnappings with her MO, and that’s nothing compared to the property destruction and leaks she’s had a hand in.”

Raising his glass, he muttered, “I’m well aware of her—alleged—rap sheet. She all but sent it as her resumé to me when I opened LUX.”

That got a reaction out of her. Hand slamming down on the reports, she returned her attention to him. “You’re joking! She reached out to you?”

“Well, yes,” he said slowly, confused. “I opened what quickly became the most popular club in Los Angeles; she was kind enough to offer her expertise should I run into problems. Of course, she’s nothing compared to Mazikeen—”

Chloe raised a hand to stop him. “We’ll be talking _at length _about your psycho bartender, but we need to focus on this right now. Do you still have whatever way she contacted you? An email or something?”

He rolled his eyes with a laugh. “Obviously not, Detective; why would a supposed criminal mastermind leave a paper trail?” Nodding his head towards her drink with eyebrows raised—surely he could tempt her into breaking that pesky no alcohol on the job policy of hers—he waved for her to have some. When she still didn’t make a move towards it—that frown was a good way to get wrinkles—he said, “But she did leave me her card, which is why I’ve set up a meeting with her. If you hadn’t been so distracted by yours truly earlier, you might have heard how I extended my help on this case _because _I know both Ty Huntley and Ms. Hillman.”

For a long moment, she just stared at him; obviously, he had surprised her. “So, you went to the lieutenant with this crazy idea about being a consultant because you wanted to _help_? Not because you wanted to ‘protect’ me?”

“I don’t lie, Detective,” Lucifer answered fiercely. “After two weeks of making deals to get me closer to the lieutenant, I was at a party that ended with the tragic death of Ty Huntley’s bedmate. After closer inspection of some of the details, Ronnie Hillman is someone of interest. I happen to have ties to her, so it made it _much_ easier to persuade Olivia into allowing me to become a consultant.”

Briefly, he watched as disbelief and suspicion warred on her face, her blue eyes searching him much the same as she had at the precinct. Not for the first time since he’d met her, he wondered what was going on in that head of hers, what she could possibly be thinking. Whatever the reason, his Father had decided it was imperative that she be immune to him—perhaps not immune, but at least _much_ harder to tempt than any other human he’d encountered.

Teeth gritting, Lucifer realized that he would have to find a way around these blocks that God had put in his way. _Nice try, _Dad_. I’ve learned a few tricks while on time out_, he thought arrogantly.

“So you meant it. The ‘protecting’ me stuff, accompanying me on cases? _You_ are doing _all of this_ because you made a…bargain with someone? Over me?”

He nodded distractedly. “Yes, Detective. How many times will I have to tell you? I’d hardly waste my time on all these problems humanity creates for itself otherwise.”

That was when her heart started thundering in her chest, much as it had when his visage had…slipped. It was fear that made her tense almost imperceptibly, bravado that kept her in her seat. _Truly a strange woman,_ he thought with a certain amount of awe, maybe even pride. A woman capable of staring the King of Hell down even while her basic instincts demanded she run?

What a human.

Clearing her throat, Chloe turned her attention to the papers, running a hand over her tight ponytail. She sat in nervous silence for a long time, a small shake in her arms and legs as she seemed to think over the predicament she was in. Maybe she _was_ trying to think her exit strategy.

“I don’t know who you _think_ I am, Mr. Morningstar,” she mumbled, still not looking up at him as her fingers drummed against the file. “I don’t know _why_ someone made some deal with you.” Now she caught his eyes, hers steady and forceful. “And I don’t _want_ to know. You’ve volunteered to help us put a monster behind bars and that’s _all_ I’m going to let you do. Once this is over, I don’t want you to step one _foot_ in that precinct unless it’s to report a crime. Otherwise, I’ll be forced to _protect myself_. Do you understand?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the end of 2019, a friend of mine was diagnosed with mesothelioma, only to pass away right before the new year because of what we found out to be pneumonia. Her funeral was on my birthday, which led me down a dark path (for the last three years, someone has either died or had their funeral on my birthday). Then my great-uncle was put into hospice care, with doctors saying they would only be able to keep him comfortable until he passed. The day after his life-support was pulled, my grandfather passed away in his sleep. In the beginning of February, my work laptop was stolen, along with many of my hard drives, so I had to go about changing every password and closing every account for the restaurant I run. That took most of the month. Then quarantine came and now here we are.
> 
> I'm really trying, everyone, but I am struggling at this point. Please be patient with my updates until I can get back in the swing of things.


	5. I Am Taking This Very Seriously

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe tries to find a killer while keeping up with Lucifer, who's taking this particular case to heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a couple descriptions of Lucifer's fall that might be a bit much for anyone who has suffered a severe burn. The parts are separated by double of my usual breaks.

Lucifer wasn’t known for his patience or his duplicitousness. In fact, he was sure that—other than the humans’ misled belief that he was the “Prince of Lies”—no one who actually knew him would equate either to him. It was a gift, really, to be decisive and honest when so few were.

The fact that he was hiding out in his penthouse rather than living it up in his club while he waited for a mercenary was a testament to just how far he could push either of those traits. He _loathed_ the idea of sitting around, twiddling his thumbs while others were enjoying themselves. So much desire, just an elevator ride away….

_“Lucifer Morningstar. Do you. Under. Stand?”_ the detective’s voice rang in his ear, snatching him back into his surroundings. Though he knew she couldn’t see him, he straightened a bit, shifting the phone better to his ear. Chloe Decker’s voice really was quite lovely, even if she regularly used it to rebuff him. _“This is the only chance we’re going to get, so you need to—”_

“Yes, of course, Detective,” he interrupted easily, grinning idly as he strode across the floor to have a drink. “I’m well aware of the plan, seeing as we’ve gone over it _many_ times in the last week.”

She might have growled at that, making his smirk grow. He genuinely enjoyed how much he managed to annoy her, especially when it came to her chosen career. All it took was one comment from him to leave her rolling her eyes in irritation, groaning in exasperation.

It probably helped that she was incredibly enticing when she glared at him, a trait he had never found to be particularly attractive before; of course, he’d never had anyone that wasn’t fascinated by him, so he enjoyed exploring this new experience. What could be more entertaining than the challenge of discovering what made this woman tick without any preternatural powers?

Was this why human men were so tempted by the thrill of the chase?

_“Lucifer, you need to take this _seriously_,”_ she snarled through the phone, her breath hissing through her teeth. _“One girl is dead, another in ICU with third degree burns on thirty percent of her body.”_

He stopped at that, smile disappearing from his lips. An innocent woman who had done nothing but slept with a high-profile young man was dead. A woman who had done nothing but date said young man was fighting for her life, maybe even begging for death to escape the pain of her ravaged skin.

-.-

-.-

_The scent of burning flesh—his own flesh—as he plunges through the air like an asteroid, pleading with his Father for the end. His broken wings fighting against the sensation of plummeting, unable to catch him and only breaking further. He beseeches for something, _anything_ to stop the burning devastating his broken body…._

-.-

-.-

An animalistic sneer rose on his lips at the idea of someone who had done nothing wrong feeling what he had all those eons ago, feeling his monstrous visage threatening to rise in its wake. “I assure you, Detective, that I am taking this _very seriously_. I will do whatever I must to bring those responsible to justice,” he growled darkly, delighting in the fact that Ronnie Hillman would be at his and Mazikeen’s mercy _just_ long enough….

There was a long pause on the other end of the call in which he could hear Chloe’s quick intake of breath. He almost felt guilty for frightening her, knowing that she was just a human trying to come to terms with what she had seen only days before, trying to explain it all away.

Perhaps it was best that she had some fear of him; if he couldn’t convince her to leave her job of being in constant danger organically, he might be able to intimidate her into changing professions.

_“She’ll be there soon,”_ the detective murmured slowly. _“Mazikeen gave us access to all the club cameras, and we’ve got bugs in the penthouse. Once she makes confirmed contact, bring her upstairs and we’ll have everything we need.”_

Lucifer’s smirk returned at that, knowing what was to come. “I’m well aware that I’m to bring her to the penthouse, Detective. Ronnie Hillman must be brought to justice.” _Righteous justice, retribution for what she has done._

Another long silence before he heard a sigh in his ear. _“Do you remember the signal when things go south outside of the penthouse?”_

He chuckled at the insinuation that he might need human help. “Don’t you mean _if _things go south outside of the penthouse?” he joked, hoping to break through the tension surrounding her words.

_“I’m aware of what I said, Lucifer.”_

Jaw clenching, he took a second to calm himself at the insinuation, reminding the indignant part of him that she might be a miracle, but she was still a human. Obviously, she couldn’t comprehend immortality, no matter how often he told her he was the Devil. “I know the signal, though I won’t need it. The plan is in motion, Detective.” _My plan._

He received no response but the tone of the call being disconnected.

-.-

Something wasn’t right.

Chloe knew it from the moment Lucifer told her he remembered the plan. Something in how he said it raised the hair along her arms, but she didn’t have the confidence to bring it up with the officers that would play club goers. A part of her wanted to tell them to watch him, to stay close enough to hear everything he said.

Yet she didn’t. Mostly because she knew that they would just roll their eyes at her as they had every time she’d told them anything; she was still the woman investigating an officer that had almost died. They had no respect for her, and she wasn’t sure that she blamed them.

She still believed in the man in the suit, after all.

So, she watched the cameras, keeping her eyes locked on her consultant—_bait_, he’d called himself. There was too much at stake to not pay attention to whatever game he was playing; not only a woman who had been wanted for a _long_ time, but a woman who might have committed cold-blooded murder and attempted murder.

Ronnie Hillman deserved life in prison, even if they could only get her on current transgressions.

Keeping her breathing steady, Chloe watched the man who called himself the Devil as he strode through the crowd, clocking their target the moment she walked through the door. She tried to forget the trick of light that had made her believe for a moment that his delusion was true, only to catch the same vision briefly on camera, knowing it didn’t even last a frame of recording.

But he didn’t approach, turned his attention back to the flock of men and women surrounding him with adoration in their eyes, grinning charmingly as they all swooned. If she didn’t know better, she would think that he had been trained in luring out his opponent, making them believe that they held all the cards. It was almost entrancing to watch with the knowledge she held.

Lucifer Morningstar was the perfect ambush predator.

Hating to admit it, even to herself, Chloe realized he might actually be an asset to the force. Though she’d never say it aloud, his ability to straddle the fence of legality was an invaluable tool towards luring in the seedy underbelly of her city.

Criminals trusted criminals, at least more than any newcomer.

None of this changed the fact that she couldn’t shake the feeling that Lucifer couldn’t wholly be relied upon in this case. There was just something irking her, twitching in the back of her mind. He continuously swore that he never lied—and had yet to disabuse her of that notion—but something in his voice on that call made her wish she had her fellow officers to back her up.

_Something’s going to go wrong_, the irrational part of her intoned. _What happens if he goes rogue?_

She shook off the thought. At the very least, Lucifer wanted to bring Hillman to justice; he wouldn’t destroy their entire case for his own purposes.

So, for nearly an hour, she watched and waited, breath catching every time the alleged hitwoman started her approach. Then, with some strange mixture of awe and annoyance, stared as the club owner expertly dodged her, subtly leading her closer to the elevator to his penthouse.

For _another_ hour, she listened with gritted teeth to the officers suggesting they simply take her right then and there. Surely, they could build a case within the thirty-six-hour hold, protecting any would-be targets in that time. Never before had they been able to surround her as they were doing in the club.

She kept them at bay, at least until they lost sight of Hillman.

Squinting her eyes at the screen, Chloe muttered into her walkie, “They’re near the bar; Morningstar is getting another drink.” After this, she would berate him for thinking it _appropriate_ to get _drunk_ during a sting.

_“Negative, Decker,” _Anthony Paolucci snarled into his headset. _“I’m at the far end and there’s _no sign_ of _either_ of them. The bartender in charge of getting us into the security system is gone, too.”_

She started to argue, staring at Lucifer and Mazikeen talking idly at the bar. He leaned with one elbow on the bar to gesture to his full club floor while the bartender bent heavily over the counter, face made of stone. In another screen, she could see Paolucci enjoying the attention of one of the tabletop dancers in one of the booths, raising his drink in greeting towards Dan.

“Shit,” she growled, fury blinding her. That _asshole_ had gotten his bartender to loop the tapes. She’d seen them having much the same conversation just after he’d clocked Hillman the first time. “Split up,” she hissed into the walkie. “Two guys at every exit, the rest of you do a sweep then head up to the penthouse. They can’t have gotten far.” She thanked her lucky stars that they had only just noticed the absence.

Lucifer would be easy to spot with the entourage he always seemed to amass. Not to mention Mazikeen, who seemed to have an endless supply of leather clothes. Hillman might have already taken off, but she would find out shortly.

_“Chlo, do you have the penthouse recording? If you didn’t and they’re already up there—”_

“Yes, Dan, it’s set to record. I’ve had it playing in the van all night; I haven’t heard anything,” she answered, a ball tightening in the pit of her stomach. Even though she had wanted nothing to do with this, the lieutenant would make sure she paid for it if it didn’t go as planned. One misstep and she might even lose _her badge_. “Somebody needs to get up there and make sure it wasn’t disabled.”

Putting her walkie down, Chloe slammed her good elbow into the desk, clenching her hand in her hair. This was a _shit show_. Not only had she lost the suspect, but she’d lost _the consultant._ No matter what she thought she might have seen or how he’d gotten away without a scratch after being shot six times, it didn’t change the fact that he was a civilian.

And Hillman was practically _an assassin_.

Like bile, fear rose in her throat, knowing that he was in very _real_ danger. The woman could be doing anything; she might have figured out their plan and decided to teach him a lesson. Or use him as a warning.

It didn’t matter how much money he could offer her if he had nearly sold her out to the police.

As she tried to gleam some hint of which way they’d gone, searching frantically for any place they might not be able to easily see from the floor, her phone began to ring incessantly in her back pocket, making her reach for it on instinct. She barely spared it a glance—making a mental note to call the babysitter back when she had time—only to double take at the screen.

_Lucifer Morningstar_

Her heart leaping in her chest, she warily put the phone to her ear, that moment seeming to take forever. What would she hear? Would Hillman laugh at how easily she had taken care of her _own_ problem this time? Would the call be nothing more than a gunshot or the sound of labored breathing? Was she about to listen to a man—albeit an annoying, terrifying one—die?

_“Detective, you may call off your dogs. I have taken this problem _firmly_ in hand and will deliver proper justice,” _Lucifer’s calm voice spoke, the tone of indifference masking something else bringing her completely to attention. Static sounded around his voice, making him just barely clear enough to understand. _“No need to worry any longer.”_

“Where are you?” she demanded, anger resurfacing to cover relief. “Our plan was—”

_“_Your_ plan. You’ll note that I never _explicitly_ said that I would be doing as you bade.”_

Feeling the snarl raising her lips, she spat, “You have _no idea_ who you’re dealing with, Lucifer! Even if you ‘disappear’ Hillman—or whatever _you people_ call it—you have the entire LAPD watching you. You’ll go to prison.”

He merely chuckled and she could see him shaking his head good-naturedly even though this wasn’t the same as being given the wrong dish at a restaurant. Was her brow beginning to twitch? _“Be careful; I might begin to believe you _care_ whether I face incarceration or not. Besides, I’m not the one laying hands on our guest.”_

“It doesn’t matter whether it’s you or your bartender; it’s called conspiracy to commit—”

_“Mazikeen would hardly waste her many talents on _Ronnie Hillman_. She’s simply going to meet her own filthy conscience.”_

In the background, Chloe could hear a loud thumping echoing and a furious muffled voice. _It’s gotta be a big, enclosed space. Probably has cement. If he didn’t want to be found, he would have told his employees not to mention it when we prepped everybody._ “Just tell me where you are; we can bring her down if you help, Lucifer.”

_“I think I’ll open a nice Cabernet for a job well done. Good night, Detective; I’m sure I’ll see you around.”_

The click of the phone infuriated her further, making her want to throw it against the screens in front of her. Grabbing the walkie, she said, “He’s got Hillman _somewhere_ in there. He couldn’t have gotten far without _someone_ noticing. He’s not in the penthouse or anywhere in the club where you’d be able to hear the music.”

_“Decker, there isn’t anywhere else _to go_. When we looked at the blueprints for this place, it was pretty straight forward. He had to have taken her somewhere else,”_ Paolucci answered. _“Your fucking _consultant_ just ran off with LAPD’s most wanted—”_

“I don’t care what the blueprints said,” she replied snarkily, wishing for _once_ someone would just _listen to her_. “He can’t have gotten far without someone—”

_“We’re going to take the parking garage; odds are he’s shoving her into the trunk of that Corvette he races around,”_ Dan cut in. _“We’ll get squads to block any exits and search it.”_

She started to say something, realizing before she could that they wouldn’t listen to her either way. It didn’t matter that it didn’t make sense; her word held no weight. Most of them had probably been hoping she and her assigned _bait_ would fail, if only to stick it to her.

The operation was now officially a bust in their minds and nothing would change that.

Tears—whether of frustration or the overwhelming knowledge that she had done this to herself, she wasn’t sure—pricked at her eyes, stuck in her throat. She _knew_ there was no way he could have gotten himself, his bartender, and Hillman out without alerting anyone. It didn’t matter what inhuman abilities he’d shown before; he was still just a man.

And he joked about opening a bottle of wine, like he would toast her losing her job.

_Where would he even get a bottle of Cab if he wasn’t in the club or the penthouse?_

“A wine cellar,” she muttered to herself. If it had been recently added on, there would be some trace of that, of course. He couldn’t just add on to his building without anyone noticing, especially a building that had existed since before prohibition. There were forms and approvals, all forms of red tape—

But he’d been able to become a consultant to the LAPD with little fuss. _A certain amount of…persuasion_, he’d said. Who was to say that he had _persuaded_ an off-the-books addition?

Where would a deranged club owner hide a torture room that wouldn’t arouse suspicion? It couldn’t be easily accessible by the general public, but he’d also had half of the LAPD watching him and his prey; it would have to be somewhere a club owner might be called to on any given night.

Maybe somewhere behind the bar or in a storage room? But she hadn’t seen him go anywhere near the back, other than to get a refill here and there, perhaps have a quick conversation with an employee. Other than the one instance of him chatting with Mazikeen, he’d stayed well away from her….

Turning to the camera screens, she rewound the last shot she’d noted before Paolucci had told her the three were gone. The _one time_ he’d talked with the bartender he’d suggested was with him. If there was a chance to figure out what he’d done….

For five heart-pounding minutes, she fixated on the screen, sure that there was something she had deemed innocuous earlier in the night, something that would give her some clue where he had taken Hillman without notice.

First, Mazikeen left the bar, walking towards the entrance, only to turn on her heel at the last second to grab a bouncer. She’d pulled him down so she could say something in his ear—an order, if the look on her face was as similar as Chloe thought its expression was to when _she’d_ met the bartender—watching as he nodded stiffly, never taking his eyes off the front door. Letting him go, Mazikeen strode to the coat room and the cameras lost sight of her.

Groaning in annoyance, Chloe searched once again for Lucifer and Hillman. It was the moment when the detective had first thought the self-proclaimed Devil would allow himself to be caught; Hillman was so close, she could probably smell his cologne.

But he’d been caught by…the same bouncer Mazikeen had spoken to. She remembered watching the moment, figuring it was something to do with the door. Her focus had only been on the alleged murderer then; she needed to know where she was at all times. But she knew—now—to watch _Lucifer_.

He nodded to the man quickly, lifting his drink to his lips before walking off towards the front door. The owner was stopped here and there by partygoers, smiling charmingly at them as he was handed a shot, another drink, before finally disappearing off camera.

Only to reappear moments later.

_Drink free_.

“This has to be when the tapes restart,” Chloe muttered to herself, rewinding back through the footage over and over, trying to figure out where they could have gone.

Hissing through her teeth, she turned her attention to Hillman. She needed to stop thinking of Lucifer as a perp and focus on the woman being a _victim_. In abduction cases, they were the most important part. What had they been doing, who had they come in contact with, was their guard down….

_She was following Lucifer; he was luring her _somewhere_,_ she reminded herself. _She kept just far enough from everyone to not be conspicuous but also to avoid socializing. Wherever she took off to, she thought she had full control of the situation._

That was when Chloe saw the same bouncer who had approached Lucifer immediately crossing to Hillman, pausing only briefly as he picked up an empty glass from a table nearby.

_He’s talking to her._

In shock, the detective watched impatiently as Hillman—alone—headed towards the entrance, just in time for the tape to replay her walking in.

Glancing down at her arm in its sling, she thought momentarily on her options. She _should_ call in the other officers, tell them to search for a hidden door in the front of the building, explain that they couldn’t have left without any of the undercover squads noticing. Tell them what she’d seen. Of course, there was a large chance that they wouldn’t believe her and would ignore any suggestion on her part. If only because it was _stupid_ to even _suggest_ that Lucifer had paid off a bunch of people to get a red room of pain installed beneath the front doors of his club.

Or…she could go. Lucifer had told her he’d _bargained_ to protect her; would she be safe with him? Mazikeen certainly didn’t like her, but the other woman seemed to listen to everything her boss decreed with some restraint.

It was her only option. She’d already wasted enough time. At any moment, Hillman could be dead and left to rot in some sealed off cellar.

-.-

“So, we gonna punish her or what?” Maze demanded, arms crossed tightly over her chest as her hands anxiously flicked her knives behind her back. “We’ve been waiting on your _detective_ for a half hour!”

Lucifer sat calmly in a chair just feet from the bound and gagged Ronnie Hillman as said-hitwoman glared furiously at him. With a glance at his watch, he sighed, uncrossing his legs to stand. Straightening himself languidly, he murmured, “It seems I put too much _faith_ in Dad’s _miracle_ detective.” With a smirk he so rarely got to use on Earth, he watched with some amount of sadistic glee as the blood drained from Ronnie’s face. “I guess we’ll be going with Plan B, then.”

A small part of him whispered not to do what he was going to do, guilt squeezing at his heart as it always did at the idea of punishing some unsuspecting human the way his Father had him. Per usual, he squelched it viciously, reminding himself that this mortal had done things she could _never_ be forgiven for.

-.-

-.-

_Burning, burning, burning._

_ How could there be any part of him left to burn? How could he—even as an immortal—survive such an onslaught? Why would his Father allow him to feel so much pain when he couldn’t just _die_?_

_ Would it ever stop? Had he been sentenced to the never-ending pain of burning and burning and **burning**…._

-.-

-.-

The snarl that rose in his throat brought him out of his memories, his glass full of whiskey flying to shatter against the woodwork holding his wine collection. He could feel the heat of Hell rising in his eyes as he shook himself free of the recollection of trauma, his gaze coming to rest on the face of the accused.

He hadn’t been given fair trial; why should she? From the moment she’d stepped into the hidden room, she had been practically _bragging _about condemning that poor girl to a life of painful torment. He had barely made a comment about keeping the heat off when she’d opened up about past accomplishments, albeit vaguely. She was _proud_ of the _hell_ she was putting that poor girl through, all for being involved with the wrong man….

In an instant, he was bent so they were face-to-face, idly pondering the eternal question of _how_ to torture her _best_. “You burnt that woman to the point she will never recover, no matter the surgeries she might choose to endure,” he growled, hands going to the arms of the chair to completely cage her in. “Yet you feel no remorse! You allowed her to _burn_, leaving her to _wish_ for death. Do you know what she said in the report? Were you somewhere listening as she tried in vain to call for help? She nearly _died_ on the way to the hospital.”

Ronnie’s eyes flashed with fear, struggling harder against her bonds as he held the chair firmly to the floor. Used to being the predator, she had no idea what to do when she was the prey. He’d spent the whole night lulling her into a false sense of security, convincing her that she had him right where she wanted him, that _she _was in control.

He would enjoy disabusing her of that notion.

Straightening from her chair, he turned away, glancing in Maze’s direction. The demon was still at attention, waiting for his word, to do whatever he ordered of her. He gave her a brief nod as his back went to the pseudo-assassin. “I’m aware that this is your _profession_, but Debra McCall seemed to be _personal_. You killed the woman who slept with her boyfriend, then attempted to kill _her_. I just can’t understand _why_.”

He heard Ronnie gasping for breath behind him as Maze removed the gag, patiently holding his hands behind his back, waiting for her response. He might not give her a _fair_ trial, per se, but he would give her more than his Father had him.

“She killed Ali!” she finally shouted, voice breaking in her desperation.

Barely sparing a glance over his shoulder—more to make sure his demon hadn’t started cutting—Lucifer intoned, “She had an alibi, whereas you do _not_.” With a grin, he informed her, “Operating under the radar works against the best of us, I’m afraid.”

She scoffed. “Ali worked _with_ me, you psycho.”

Intrigued, he turned fully back to her, eyeing her in interest. It didn’t seem like she was lying, but….

“I took her under my _wing_.” The poor woman’s voice broke at the acknowledgment. Ronnie’s head dropped limply to her chest, breath rumbling from her as if it had been forced. “I promised Ali it would be an easy, fun job. She just wanted some quick cash and…and now she’s _dead_.”

Moving towards her warily, he murmured, “This certainly seems like you’re admitting to murder.”

Her head swung up, fury in her eyes as she opened her mouth to retort.

“Hands where I can see them!”

Deep within him, something let out a laugh at her timing. That same part wanted to applaud her. If he’d been a _human_, perhaps he would have even done so. He would never admit to even Maze that he had been waiting for her to make her appearance, though he was a little disappointed it had taken her longer to discover the renovated prohibition tunnel than he’d anticipated. Still, she had figured out all the clues he’d sent to just her, and she deserved some accolades for that.

But to the greater part of him, she was an unwelcome addition to their threesome.

“So glad you could finally make it, _Detective_!” he called, keeping his attention on his captive. “Though I will admit to some curiosity on how you found my _evil_ cellar.”

“You left the corner of your rug upturned,” she answered, the sound of her taking the safety off her gun echoing in the area as her footsteps hit the concrete. “If you didn’t want to be found, you should have been more discrete.”

For her part, Ronnie immediately tightened her lips, tears still glistening in her eyes.

Chuckling, he turned towards the staircase. “So you _were_ able to follow the breadcrumbs left for you!” he answered lightly, slowly shifting to hold Chloe’s gaze. “I had started to suspect your power of observation.”

He watched as that brought a twinge to her brow, filing away the interest in the motion for a later time.

There was a woman to punish, after all.

Glancing back to Maze, Lucifer ordered, “Untie our friend, Mazikeen. I’m sure Detective Decker is going to insist on doing things by the book now.” He watched as the demon grudgingly did as she was told, glaring at Chloe the whole while.

“Ronnie Hillman,” the detective said, outwardly calm though he could hear the twinge of anger in her voice, “you’re under arrest for the attempted murder of Debra McCall.” She kept her weapon aloft, preventing the now-freed fugitive from fleeing. Her eyes flickered briefly to where Lucifer and Maze stood. “And the two of you don’t go anywhere, either. You’re under arrest for false imprisonment.”

Glancing at his demon with a smirk, the Devil replied easily, “I would honestly like to see you make that stick, Detective. Especially since we kept her out of the hands of your corrupt brothers in blue.”

She started to perk up at that, then caught herself. _So she isn’t her comrades’ biggest fan, then,_ he thought gleefully. “Unless you’ve got some proof, that isn’t going to stick.”

_“Don’t know who I want to take down more: that traitor Decker or the Hillman bitch.”_

To her credit, Chloe contained her flinch for the most part, but he caught it. Even though a part of him sneered at the idea of feeling something for her, Lucifer barely held back his snarl of disgust at the recorded voice. The fact that Tony Paolucci would have the _cajones_ to speak poorly of Lucifer’s detective in his club was not only disrespectful, but incredibly dangerous. Clearly, they had left the one-armed woman on her own without much thought.

“Guess you’ll have to listen to me, seeing as my lawyer will be getting a copy of that tape,” Ronnie said easily, eyeing Chloe with interest as she grinned with renewed bravado.

The blonde swung her narrowed gaze back to the dark-haired assassin, fury and defeat warring in her eyes. “I don’t know why that would matter in the least; every cop in the city is after you.”

“Yeah, it’s almost like they have it out for me or something,” Ronnie answered confidently. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say it _casts doubt_ on any evidence you might think you have.”

Before the detective could retort, Lucifer cut in, voice echoing in the wine cellar as he crossed to pluck a couple bottles from their shelves. “Why don’t we discuss this over a nice glass of Cab?”

-.-

“I can’t believe you actually convinced the lieutenant to listen to _anything_ Hillman had to say,” Chloe growled from the passenger seat of the Corvette the next morning, glaring at him as he drove them towards the management offices of Joseph “Joe’ Hanson. “Or that you’re going over the speed limit _with a cop in the car_!”

Lucifer merely shot her an easy grin, handsome face lighting with mischief. “Oh, Detective, you wouldn’t give me a ticket, would you?” He weaved effortlessly through the traffic that surrounded them, seemingly uncaring of the danger it posed.

“I can’t give a ticket to a corpse on the pavement!” she screamed as he whipped within a hair’s breadth of two cars. “I mean it, Lucifer, _slow down_!”

Too busy watching her life flash before her eyes, she didn’t notice when he rolled hers with a patronizing grin. “I’m your Guardian Devil, Detective; I’d never allow you to die in something as mundane as a car accident. Besides that, I wouldn’t get a scratch on my beautiful Corvette!”

Hands flying to the dash, she clenched her fingers and eyes tightly as they took a corner at shocking speed, somehow managing to stay on all four wheels. Once she could confidently stand on her feet again, she was going to kick his ass. With all the psycho, stalker crap he’d been pulling on her, the least he could do was not knowingly freak her the hell out! _I can probably get off with a slap on the wrist once I explain all the shit he’s pulled over the last few weeks._

They came to an abrupt stop, making her eyes fly open with a gasp. She glanced to her right, realizing that—somehow—they’d made it to Joe’s office without a scratch.

“You see?” Lucifer said matter-of-factly as he got out of the car, leaning over his door to grin at her. “Perfectly safe!” He strode around the side of the Corvette as she shakily got out, making it to her side just in time to catch her with an arm around her waist as she would have fallen. “Oh, come now, no need to be dramatic,” he clucked as he righted her. “I know you were raised by an actress, but this is really too much.”

She bit back the words that rose in her throat, going for professionalism as she fixed her jacket. “We’ll talk about your driving privileges when we’re back at the precinct,” she hissed as she started towards the doors. “Until then, just try to do this by the book; after your show with Hillman, we’re lucky if we get anything here to stick already.”

Neither of them said anything more as they walked into the building, a receptionist pointing them dazedly towards the elevator. The silence was eerie, yet somehow comfortable, she suddenly realized as he stood just behind her in the opulent space. She forced her eyes to remain locked on the rising number of floors, keeping her breathing steady as she wondered at the feeling.

_He reminds you of the man in the suit,_ she explained to herself. _That’s the only reason._

As the doors chimed and opened, they strode onto their floor, glancing through all the glass walls to find Joe the only one around. He sat facing them, head in his hands. “That doesn’t look guilty at all,” Chloe muttered to herself, chancing a peek at Lucifer as he stared ahead with a certain sort of menace. Stifling a shiver at the sight, she murmured, “Whatever you’re thinking of, don’t; I’ve got this, you’re just a civilian consultant.”

In hindsight, she should have made him promise.

-.-

Fury swirled within him as he listened to the manager’s half-hearted attempts to explain himself. He wanted to do as the detective had bid him to, but she had no idea that this man’s eternal punishment would be more terrible than any justice she could give him within human law.

Though he insisted that Ali’s death had been an accident, that didn’t change the fact that he had paid a woman to burn another alive. He didn’t even mention that he had attempted to send Debra McCall to her death, didn’t save a passing thought for the young woman who was still in the ICU because of his greed.

Unable to control the memories flashing through his head, he felt hellfire rise in his eyes. He would destroy the man if allowed just one moment alone with him….

“Whatever. I’m done with this,” Joe Hanson suddenly declared, shoulder shoving into Chloe’s injured arm as he thought to stride away.

At her squeak of pain and her face pinched, the Devil found that his control was sapped.

He reached out his arm, catching the manager by the throat as his head twisted to catch eyes with the man. “You have no remorse for what you’ve done,” he growled, recognizing the sound of his monstrous voice reverberating. He could feel his skin mottling and growing red—_just as hers would, burnt and painful to the end of her days_—heat rising in his face. “And that just won’t do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who waits for this story and continues to read. I know I've been slow to update, but I'm going through a rough time mentally.
> 
> Also, if anyone wants to talk season 5 with me, please feel free to email me at cecevolume@gmail.com. <3


	6. You're Bleeding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a look at Lucifer's Devil Face, Chloe has a crisis, but the two are forced to stay together when someone starts targeting the two of them.

Chloe’s breath caught in her throat at the sight before her. Like a piece of paper lit on fire, she watched Lucifer’s smooth, perfect skin give way to blazing red. She could make out every vein, could see every ridge of scarring all over his head. Her heart leapt in her chest at the rasp that accompanied every breath he took, the shudder of his large body with every movement.

Despite the pain in her shoulder, Joe’s scream of terror made her jump, jostling her arm even more. Though she tried to hold it, she couldn’t help the cry that pulled from her belly, tears prickling her eyes.

In that moment, Lucifer turned his intense red gaze towards her, snarling through chapped lips. If she didn’t know that she was looking the Devil in the eyes, she might have realized that he seemed hurt by her response.

“Please, don’t hurt me!” Joe cried, arms crossing in front of his face defensively. “I…I’ll confess! Just _please_ don’t hurt me!”

Lucifer’s head whipped back to the man, a low growl emitting from somewhere primal as Chloe could do nothing but watch in shock. “_This_ is what you’ve condemned that poor girl to, Joey,” he snarled furiously, his voice no more than animalistic. “Unfortunately, it seems to be what you’ll torture yourself with for eternity, as well.” As if the large man weighed no more than a used towel, he was tossed away, breaking through the glass that surrounded them. But the Devil wasn’t finished with him yet, it seemed. “There is no true justice for those that attack the innocent, so I’ll be glad to punish you with this over and over when you arrive in _my_ domain.”

As he continued towards the prone, shaking man, Chloe realized suddenly the strength he had just displayed. If Lucifer wanted to, he could tear the man apart, do something that he would never be able to come back from.

Sirens could be heard in the distance as other officers descended on them. What would they do at the sight of the Devil? Would they shoot him, would they lose their minds like she was sure she was? _Who am I trying to protect?_

She dismissed the question quickly, almost convincing herself that she was simply trying to save the other officers from what she was going through. But she couldn’t get her voice to work, could only watch as Lucifer staggered towards the manager, every step seeming to cost him. Did he feel pain from all that ragged skin and muscle pulling against the stretch of use?

“Lucifer, _stop_,” she finally whispered, barely able to hear herself.

-.-

All that he could hear other than the heavy, furious rush of blood in his veins was the snarling voice in his head, hissing to punish the human who thought he could go without consequences, that he had the right to walk away from the devastation in his wake.

To this pile of human excrement, others’ lives were inconsequential and meant only for his personal use. It didn’t matter to him that the poor girl would be left scarred and broken, finding no where to fit in, no one to care for her. What could have possibly made him so selfish, so irresponsible? What gave him the right to decide life and death?

As he made his way towards the terrified man, he could feel the tug of each step in his burnt tendons, giving him an almost lame gait. He knew he was speaking but was too caught up in the images of his own fall to truly realize what was being said. The feeling of fire surrounding him, burning flesh falling away in meteoric pieces around him….

He wanted to roar, to let loose the monster that always hid below the surface. He wanted to rip the man apart for daring to hurt someone as he had been hurt, to sentence an innocent to the torture that no one could ever truly heal from.

Watching as if from outside his body, he saw his claw-tipped, blood-red hand reaching towards the man’s throat, time seeming to slow all around the two of them. It would be so easy to rid Earth of this cretin, this _scum_; all it would take is a quick squeeze and he would be sent to his eternal punishment—

“Lucifer, _stop_.”

Suddenly, he realized what he was doing, blinking out of his stupor as Chloe's voice filtered through the haze of rage in his mind.

Disgusted with himself as the red slowly began fading from his skin, he turned hesitantly towards the detective. If he hadn’t known that he’d never tried to hide the fact that he was the Devil from her, he might have been frightened at the prospect of whether she would be able to handle the sight of him in his true form before her. But did it really matter either way? She was his charge; whether they liked it or not, they were stuck firmly in each other’s paths.

As he pulled himself back together, fixing his cuffs, he heard the sound of thundering footsteps coming down the hall. “It seems back up has arrived,” he said darkly, watching as Chloe flinched at his voice. He ignored the pang in his chest at the sight of her fear, squelching it deep. “You’ve nothing to fear from me, Detective,” he murmured as he decidedly kept his distance, watching the officers stream in around them. “I didn’t lie to you when I said that I’m to protect you.”

Cradling her shoulder, she gave a subtle glance around them. When he took a step towards her, she slowly took one back, murmuring, “Please don’t,” and holding up her good hand to ward him off. “I—”

“Chloe!” Dan said, suddenly appearing between them. “What the hell were you thinking?” His hands rose as if to grab her, only to stop himself with a brief flinch. He glanced from Lucifer to the man being hauled to his feet by the officers that had accompanied him. The Devil barely contained the need to snarl as the detective turned back to his ex-wife with a soft look. “I know you’ve got this guy”—he jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards Lucifer—“but you’re still supposed to be on desk duty. Coming to confront a killer before back-up showed? What will the lieutenant—”

Snapping out of whatever had come over her at the reveal of his face, Chloe hissed, “You and your buddies _ditched an investigation_ when it was _you_ that didn’t….” Her voice trailed off as she snuck a quick look at Lucifer. In that moment, he saw the indecision melt away before she turned a furious glare back at Dan. “That didn’t trust _my_ judgment! You’re lucky Lucifer lured her to the cellar to make their deal when she started getting suspicious of you!”

The Devil in question blinked in surprise at how boldly she lied; she’d tiptoed around the details with the lieutenant and that had seemed to be enough.

So why would she make it sound like her ex was beholden to him?

Almost looking ashamed, Dan rubbed at the back of his neck. “You can’t really blame me for—”

“Yes,” she snarled, stepping forward to look him right in the eye, “I can.” She held his gaze for several seconds, making the other detective bluster and look away before she turned back to Lucifer. “Let’s go. We’ll meet these guys at the precinct to start the paperwork. You know, since I’m on _desk duty._” She swiftly spun on her heel and stormed across the floor to the lift. When the club owner could do nothing other than stare in shock at her back, even as the doors buzzed open, she glanced back at him. “Lucifer, come on; you drove here.”

Unable to help himself, he gave Dan a wicked grin and called, “I’m right behind you, Detective!” and strode past the other man, making sure to keep eye contact. Just before he was out of earshot, he murmured for only him to hear, “Looks like the douche doesn’t always win in the end.”

-.-

The elevator ride was…awkward to say the least. She might have made a split-second decision to give him a chance to explain, but that had been in an office full of other officers. Now, though…after what she’d seen, with all the unanswered questions in her head, what was she supposed to do? Because of her outburst, she’d have to accept a ride from him or hope for a cab.

Was she really safe with him? He claimed to never lie, that he was only around to protect her, but could she trust anything that he said now that she knew who he really was? And why would Satan—if guarding her was his only job—get emotionally invested in two murder cases?

He’d truly mourned Lilah, so much so that he’d wanted to punish her killer himself. Then, with this case, he’d been infuriated when they’d been told about the attempted murder on Debra, even more than he’d been over Ali’s death.

Not to mention his time at the precinct. Almost every day, he’d delivered donuts, making everyone laugh at his jokes about cops and donuts. His wild stories of orgies and non-illicit (wink) parties drew raucous cheers, leading to him putting every uniform on LUX’s exclusive list.

Were those the actions of a monster who ruled Hell?

Chancing a peek at him from the corner of her eye, the detective was surprised to see he was unperturbed. In fact, he was grinning to himself, his hands in his pockets as he rocked slowly on his heels and…was he humming? Did he not understand that she was having a complete mental breakdown over the fact that she was solving crimes_ with the actual Devil_?

Even though she wanted to demand answers to all these questions, every time she thought to open her mouth, she felt bile rising in her throat and her chest tightened. How was she supposed to talk to him about anything when she didn’t know what his reaction would be? What if she said something to set him off? What was he capable behind the handsome façade?

“Well, Detective,” he said amicably as they walked out of the building towards his Corvette, “since you weren’t much of a fan of my driving the last time around, why don’t you take this chance to show me your prowess?”

She looked up to catch his gaze at her side and wondered how someone who could stand there and give her a goofy grin, who could be so immature it was almost painful, could possibly be the most evil being to have ever lived. When he brought out the keys, dangling them jokingly in her face with a jingle, she couldn’t help the small smile that came to her mouth in response as she slowly grabbed them. “Well, I do want to get there in one piece,” she returned quietly.

-.-

It was late when she finally finished the paperwork she needed to get in order to put Ali Thornton to rest. A part of her regretted the obvious ploy to get Lucifer to leave, but she didn’t know if it was because she felt guilty about being so rude to him or because he _didn’t_ leave. Instead, he lingered around the precinct, coming around to check on her progress every hour. She’d tried to tell him that her car was there, she’d be fine to make it home on her own, but he’d been seemingly oblivious to every hint she’d thrown his way.

So, as she walked through the nearly empty parking lot with the Devil at her side, she felt her earlier anxiety bubbling furiously in her belly, making her jumpy and uneasy. As they reached the point where he’d have to leave her to go to his own car, she forced herself to look in his face, noting the way he eyed her. It seemed she wasn’t the only one that didn’t know what to do in this situation. It was almost funny to think that they were acting like two teenagers who had just gotten caught kissing behind the bleachers.

Before she could say goodbye and retreat to her apartment to figure out what in the world she was going to do, Lucifer cleared his throat. “Thank you for…not losing your head earlier,” he said awkwardly, a little catch in his voice that seemed to shock him as well. “I know it must have been a lot to see my true face—”

“So that’s what you really look like?” she interrupted weakly. “Like the world’s worst burn victim?”

He flinched back, then looked as if he were trying to find the right word. “In a way,” he answered slowly, watching her warily. Shifting his weight, he went on, “Both of my faces are the real me, but I usually have much more control over it.” When she didn’t say anything, he sighed. “If you’d like to speak more about this, I can take us to my penthouse; at least that will make it a little more comfortable.”

Chloe thought about, she really did. Her curiosity threatened to get the better of her sense of self preservation, but fear won out and she shook her head. “I…I think it’d be better if…if you stopped this whole consultant thing. I mean—”

“Ah, so you _are_ frightened of me,” he said quietly, his eyes sharpening as his shoulders tensed. “I should have expected as much; my Devil face is a lot even for the demons in Hell. Before I go, however, I’d like to remind you that I never hid the fact of who I was, you just chose not to believe me.”

As he started to turn away, she felt her face get hot, whether in embarrassment or rage, she wasn’t sure, but she decided to focus on her anger. How dare he imply that it was her fault that she hadn’t believed him! Who would? “Well excuse _me_ for not believing some club owning philanderer when he claimed to be Satan! And if you have such great control over the face, why even let me see it? Are you trying to frighten me because I caught you attempting to _kill_ a suspect?!”

Though she wanted to continue ranting, she could see a _literal _spark of red fury light in his eyes as he looked back at her. “He sentenced that young woman to a walking nightmare, praying for death while sitting in a _burn unit_. After seeing my Devil face, you can’t see why that may be a bit of a _trigger_ for me?” While she gaped at him, he moved purposefully towards her, stopping just short of encroaching with his hands in his pockets. He seemed to barely be containing his anger as he bit out, “My Father sentenced me to an _eternal life_ of living with those wounds and, no matter what your doctors may tell her, there is no amount of time that will heal the memory of feeling your skin bubble and melt away.”

As he spun on his heel towards his Corvette, she was left in complete shock. She truly hadn’t thought about _how _he’d become the Devil, only that he was supposed to be evil. He’d gone up against God, right?

But it was just like a case, wasn’t it? As Robert Evans once said, there were three sides to every story: yours, mine, and the truth. What were the chances that a two-thousand-year-old book got it right after however-many retellings, translations, and interpretations?

Chloe was flashed back to the man in the suit comforting her at her father’s funeral, probably not on purpose, but still. He’d sat next to a sad kid who just wanted someone to explain what was happening and had been exactly what she’d needed. When he’d appeared throughout her life, saving her from danger, she’d honestly thought of him as a guardian angel, there to keep her from any harm. He’d fought to save her time and again.

He’d taken bullets for her in Palmetto without a second thought, just stood between her and certain death.

She would never know until it was too late whether she was making the right decision, if every choice was leading her down the right path. But she did need to think about it the same way she thought about everything else: rationally. All the pieces she had would start to put together a picture, just like with every case she worked. Just because she didn’t know everything didn’t mean she couldn’t at least try.

With a sigh, she decided that was enough for the night; she was going to go home, pop a couple aspirin, and hopefully find sleep for the night. Maybe she’d even soak in a bath for an hour.

Keeping herself from glancing back at her consultant, she rounded her car, ignoring the flash of headlights coming her way, and started to open the door. She looked up to see Lucifer standing beside his Corvette, one hand curled up to clutch at his shoulder blades as his wide eyes watched her. She spun her head towards the car racing towards her, blinded by the lights as the tires squealed. Knowing that she wouldn’t be able to avoid being hit, she did her best to block her head by crossing her arms in front of her face.

Just before impact, Chloe heard the flap of wings just before she was wrapped tight. In the split second before the car hit them, she looked up and saw Lucifer’s face contorted as he steeled himself against the blow. Not only were his arms surrounding her, but two _beautiful_ white wings created a cocoon around her.

Then the car slammed into them.

-.-

The force of the car slammed into them and Lucifer felt them both go flying. With the sound of the car tearing off ringing in his ear, he flipped them so he would take the hit on his back, ignoring an ache that started to spread through his body. Hitting the ground, he felt all the air leave his lungs, a shock rippling through his entire body. He heard her gasp and took a moment to peek at her, just to make sure she was okay.

When their eyes met, she immediately pushed up on his chest, her hands patting him down. He started to make some crack about her finally giving in to touching him, but he was stopped by a blazing pain erupting through the back of his head. Unable to stop himself, he cried out, fingers searching out where he might have been hurt.

“Oh my God! You’re bleeding!” Chloe cried, scrambling off of him and to the side, taking out her cellphone. After she dialed, she hastily took off her jacket, shoving it under his head and holding it tight to his skull. “Joan? This is Chloe. I’m on top of the parking ramp with Lucifer; someone drove up here and hit us…him. They hit Lucifer. I need an ambulance!”

Lucifer struggled to focus, muttering, “This isn’t possible. A car accident can’t make me bleed.” He tried to shake away the pain and sit up, but found it excruciating. What kind of apocalyptic steed could disguise itself as a simple dark sedan? Was one of his siblings playing a prank on him, testing his Guardian prowess? There was no way he could just be struck by a car and nearly die! “Humans won’t be able to do anything to help me. I’m an immortal celestial being that lives outside the powers of time and mortality—ow!” He gave her a look that he hoped displayed the betrayal he felt as she poked at the wound on the back of his head. “That hurts!”

“I thought you lived beyond the power of time and mortality?” Chloe questioned seriously as she continued to feel down the back of his neck and spine. Her hands drifted gently over his limbs before she said, “Okay, feels like its just the back of your head, probably some bruising and a concussion.” She glanced nervously towards his wings as she heard the sirens coming up behind her. “Are you okay to…hide those?” He nodded and shrugged, tucking his battered wings away with a flinch. “You have to let the doctors look you over; they’ll be able to figure out everything, I’m sure of it.”

With a chuckle that turned into a wince, he sat up, saying, “I’m telling you, something isn’t right. First of all, I’m beyond anything human doctors could comprehend, or have you forgotten what you saw earlier? Second, do you remember when I took all those bullets? What makes you think that a car is more powerful than a projectile meant to maim and slaughter?”

“Then how—”

She was cut off by the arrival of the paramedics, who swarmed around him and ushered her away. Several uniformed officers also showed up, pulling her further from him to get whatever information they could.

As the EMTs asked him all sorts of ridiculous questions, Lucifer easily brushed them off, forcing himself to stand. They tried warning him that he needed to rest, but he said, “I’ve been through worse, I assure you. What I really need is to get back to the detective—”

“She’s going to have a lot of questions to answer about this,” one of them interrupted, guiding him towards the ambulance, “so it makes more sense for you to just come and let us make sure that you’re all right.”

With a roll of his eyes, Lucifer allowed them to poke and prod, even as he felt his head mending. He wanted to tell them that the Devil didn’t need mortals overlooking his wellbeing, but the more they looked him over, the more shocked they became. There were murmurings about the scrapes and bruises seeming to heal themselves before their eyes, how they couldn’t understand what they were seeing, and he wanted to scoff.

But he was too confused by the whole situation. How could he have possibly been hurt? And what did it mean that he was healing so quickly?

When the humans gave him a clean bill of health—reminding him that if he felt dizzy or nauseous to immediately go to the hospital—he went back to his car, rolling his shoulders to try to relieve the itching of his wings. The detective couldn’t possibly be in danger again, not while she was in the care of the LAPD. Right? It had to be the road rash. Once he made it back to the penthouse, he’d make a point to stretch them out.

The whole drive, he forced himself to think of something other than Chloe, keeping his mind on what his wounds could possibly mean. The only possible reasoning was that it had to do with one of his siblings or a demon forged weapon, but what demon would create a car from the metals of the bowels of Hell? And he was supposed to have complete autonomy on Earth so long as he kept doing his Guardian duties; which of his siblings would dare to go up against their Father?

Despite the partygoers that swarmed him the moment he entered the club, he shrugged them off and made his way to the elevator, catching Mazikeen’s eye and motioning for her to follow.

Joining him in the lift, she said, “From the look of that mangled suit, someone got the drop on you; want me to pay them a visit?”

Lucifer shook his head. “That won’t be necessary, Mazikeen. But I do have to ask that you look into it.” He twisted so she could see the dried blood on his back, surprised at her sharp hiss of breath. “_This_ is what we need to speak about. There’s only two ways this could have happened: my siblings or one of the demons.” They stepped into the penthouse and he crossed the room to pour them both a drink. “I need you to figure out which it is and tell me why they’re targeting me now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit shorter than the others, and I'm sorry for that. But my household has come down with COVID, so I've been struggling to stay focused. I hope you enjoyed!


	7. An Enigma In An Expertly Tailored Armani

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Research is good, but getting the info straight from the horse's mouth is best.

Chloe was shaking when Joan dropped her off at her apartment hours after a hit-and-run. Despite the fact that the car had clearly been aiming for _her_, she had no way of knowing how Lucifer was doing. She’d wanted to stay with him and talk with the paramedics, but her fellow officers had made valid points that she would only get in the way; she was more useful going with them to make a statement than hovering around the prone man.

But he’d been _hit by a car_! How was she supposed to feel about that? If she hadn’t just found out that he was _actually the Devil_, would she have felt any differently about someone throwing themselves in front of a car for her? He had said he was going to protect her but killing himself in the process hadn’t seemed like where he’d been going with that.

Could the Devil even die? And, if he’d been able to take those bullets, what had made the car any different?

Going to the cabinet, she started to take out a cup, pausing when it came time to choose between herbal tea or a glass of wine. She should go to bed, let her head work out everything that had happened that day. Maybe even pop a Tylenol PM to help her along that path.

Instead, she sighed and grabbed one of her mother’s novelty wine glasses, already turning to snatch the opened bottle she had off the counter.

Because, at the end of a horrendous, life-altering day, she needed something to take the edge off.

She eyed both her desk and the couch in front of her. She could turn on one of the mind-numbing procedurals on Netflix that she and her friends—well, the people who _had_ been her friends before Palmetto—enjoyed picking apart, but it seemed too…normal. Like today was any other day and not the day she’d learned about…everything.

Yet, if she went to her desk, she knew she wouldn’t get any work done. There wasn’t much to _be_ done since she was still on desk duty. Luckily, she wouldn’t have the sling for much longer, but it could still be weeks before she was cleared for duty.

If she ever went back.

And wasn’t that just it? The day had raised so many questions, ones that she desperately needed answers for. How could the Devil be a Guardian Angel? Why was he sent there specifically for her? What had happened to him to give him two faces? Why would Lucifer care in the slightest what happened to other humans, even if she were technically his job? If he were truly Satan, where’d the wings come from?

For the first time in her life, she wished her parents had been a bit more religious during her upbringing.

Setting down her wine beside her laptop, Chloe took her seat at the desk, taking a deep breath through her nose as she questioned where her life had taken her that she was at her work station just before midnight, asking Google about the Devil.

-.-

Chloe was shocked when she realized that the sun was rising through her windows; she hadn’t realized there was that much conflicting information on the Devil. In some stories, he was a trickster, in others, a master of deception, and then they even called him God’s favorite son. Theologians even discussed whether Lucifer and all the other incarnations of the Devil were considered the same being.

Almost all of them painted him in a horrible light, at least in the way of humanity. He hated humans so he rebelled and tried to take over the world, causing God to cast him out. But if the Lucifer she knew loathed the people of Earth, why would he bother to protect any of them? What could have tempted him to do something he found so repulsive?

What were the parts she was missing?

Groaning as she dumped her barely touched wine down the drain, she sent a hasty text to the lieutenant, explaining that she was going to take some PTO for the day. She thought briefly about letting Dan know that she wouldn’t be in, but immediately dismissed the idea. Why should she tell him anything? He’d thought that he’d had the right to get in her face after he’d royally screwed the Hillman investigation—though that wasn’t _entirely _his fault, but he should have had her back—and they were divorced anyways. What was the point in even trying with him anymore?

Heading for her bedroom, Chloe decided she should have just taken a pill and gone to sleep; now her entire day would be wasted and none of her research had answered any questions she’d had before, only piling them on.

It wasn’t like anything she could have found out would have changed the fact that she had seen the Devil in his full glory. What did she think she was going to do if she managed to figure it all out?

Suddenly so very tired, she started stripping out of her sling and shirt the minute she crossed the threshold of her bedroom, breathing a sigh of relief as she threw it in the general direction of the clothes basket. Maybe she’d take a shower before she crawled into bed, if only to soothe the aches and pains of the day.

“While I do enjoy the show, Detective, I believe we have some things to discuss.”

At the sound of his voice, Chloe nearly leapt out of her skin, wrenching her arm painfully as she tried to cover herself. Snatching up the throw blanket from the foot of her bed, she hissed, “What are you _doing_ here?”

He stretched dramatically, smirking as he watched her wrapping herself up. “Well, I’d gotten here earlier, but you seemed to be doing some work, so I waited here. I think I might have fallen asleep in the meantime; I didn’t know the case would keep you at your desk until daybreak.”

With a sarcastic laugh, she answered, “I wasn’t working on a case, Lucifer. I was….” She trailed off when reality struck her. Did she tell him what she _had_ been doing? How would it make him feel to hear that she was trying to figure out what kind of a threat he was when he had been taken to the hospital after protecting her from getting hit by a car? So, she straightened up and cleared her throat. “I was doing some independent research.”

With that dark smirk still on his face, Lucifer rose, eyeing her in open appreciation. “Would it be fair for me to assume that part of that ‘research’ had to do with seeing my Devil Face just hours before?” he asked as he stalked smoothly towards her, the movement as entrancing as a cobra’s dance.

She stood her ground, though, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her afraid again. Lifting her chin, she said, “Of course it did. Can you blame me? I just found out the guy who insisted on working with me was _the Devil_.”

He didn’t stop until he was just outside of being too close, but the grin on his face had lost its mischievousness, replacing it with an almost hypnotizing aura. With their gazes locked, she suddenly felt that pull in her gut, soft as a gentle whisper in her ear telling her to say it, to tell him what she wanted. “And what were you looking for?” he replied quietly.

Shaking off the feeling, she kept her voice steady. “Answers.”

He raised an eyebrow, watching her for a moment. For the first time, though, she didn’t get the feeling that he could see through her. Maybe it was all the revelations she’d learned over the last twenty-four hours or the fact that he clearly hadn’t expected her to be able to be in the same room as him after it all. But he seemed genuinely intrigued to find out everything she had to say. “And?”

Now, she had to think. Why should she answer him? He was the Prince of Darkness, the ruler of Hell; she didn’t owe him anything other than turning him out and hoping it stuck. Wasn’t there something in all the research she’d done saying that evil would be released when the Devil freely walked Earth? How was she supposed to trust him?

But a little voice inside of her was quick to say that she was only there because he’d protected her. Even if he wasn’t really the man in the suit, it didn’t change that he’d stepped between her and Jimmy Barnes or her and that car. He’d taken her back since he’d started working with her, helping her even when the other officers wouldn’t. And what did that mean? What would it hurt to just be honest with him now?

Blowing out a hard breath, she broke their eye contact, moving around him to grab her shirt and pull it on again. “I only found more questions. It seems like everyone’s got an opinion on who you are and who you once were.” She gingerly pulled her bad arm through the sleeve and yanked her hair free of the neck before she let the blanket drop, noticing her hands were shaking. She clenched them, hoping it would stop the quiver, but quickly gave up.

“Yes, a mystery wrapped in an enigma in an expertly tailored Armani,” he answered sarcastically. She turned back towards him and he held his arms out, doing a slow spin. “I assure you that I am an open book, Detective. Instead of asking Jeeves, why not just interrogate me directly?”

A little smile ticked at her lips. “No one uses Ask Jeeves anymore. You’re really dating yourself.”

“Seeing as I’m older than carbon, that may be the only way to do so.”

She paused at that, the now familiar sensation of a fist clenching in her chest intensifying. That was something she hadn’t even given a thought to. As the Devil, how long had he really been alive? It had to be incomprehensible. How many of science’s questions could he answer if he cared to? How many stars had he seen start and end?

He must have sensed she was getting ready to bolt because he took a step back, hands up. “I can see that we aren’t _quite_ ready for that conversation. Perhaps we should start with the most burning question on your mind and go from there?”

“How am I supposed to know what one that is?” she blurted out, turning to the side table to grab her water glass, pushing past him towards the bathroom to fill it. Seizing the ibuprofen bottle, she viciously shook out three pills. She spun back towards him, annoyed to find that he was leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe. “Do you know what all this means to someone like me? I grew up in the antitheses of a religious household. Then, when I find out _it’s all real_, all I have is the _Internet_ to work with! Do you know how many websites are devoted to all things…_you_?”

“I am the most interesting of my siblings, of course,” he said idly, tilting his head to study her. “But you had a veritable source of all things _me_ standing before you from the start.” Spreading his arms wide, he added, “So let me have it. What would you like to know?”

How was she supposed to know? He was infuriatingly blasé and she was _breaking down_. “So, I just _ask_ whether you were born the Devil or became it? And then how? And that’s _okay_ with you?”

He shrugged, seeming completely uncaring, but Chloe thought she saw a flash of hesitation in his eyes before they once again twinkled with mischief. “It’s better than others that have discovered my true face before have reacted. Most either go insane or run to grab their torches and pitchforks.”

She didn’t respond immediately, trying to search out any sign that he might be as nervous as she was. Would he really answer her truthfully? Did he have any reason to?

_I made a bargain to protect you._

_ Stop that! You’re going to reopen your stitches!_

_ I will be right back, Detective, once I squash the cockroach._

“Do you promise not to lie?” she asked quietly, keeping her eyes locked with his. If she saw just one sign of deception, she’d find a way to get him out of her house and out of her life. “Or side-step the truth?”

Shifting indignantly to his full height, he gave her a mock bow, answering, “If that’s what it takes to relax you, then yes, Detective, no matter what you ask. But I’ll remind you that I never lie.”

Inhaling deeply, she straightened her shoulders and forced herself to say the first thing that came to mind. “Why me? Who wants me protected?”

Clearly surprised by the question, he laughed, relaxing just a bit. “Well, that’s not what I thought you’d ask; I was thinking something along the lines of ‘what’s Hell like?’” Moving away from the door and back into the bedroom, he said, “And I’ve answered this once before, you’ll remember.”

“You never answered me fully, though,” she pointed out exasperatedly, following to stand directly behind him as he looked around the whole room, seemingly intending to scrutinize every detail. “You said you bargained to protect me, but you never told me who you made a deal with or why. It had to have been something or someone really important to get you to follow some nobody like _me_ around.”

-.-

Lucifer slowly turned towards Chloe incredulously. Did she truly think she was so insignificant? “What do you believe makes you insignificant, Detective? The fact that you’re the only human in history to resist the Devil? Or how about that you are standing in front of, arguably, one of the strongest beings to ever exist making demands?”

She blinked at that; had it truly not crossed her mind that this wasn’t exactly normal behavior for mortals? Opening her mouth as if to continue on that train of thought, she paused, her eyes darting as if connecting dots in the air. “No, I’m not going to be distracted,” she said with a shake of her head, suddenly looking stern. “Who did you bargain with and why?”

With a roll of his eyes, he started to sit on the edge of the bed, but a warning glare had him straightening his suit instead. “Wouldn’t you like to have this conversation some place more comfortable? I assume you’ll have follow up questions and I hardly want to be standing here for hours trying to explain the cosmos to you.”

Her eyes narrowed into darkening slits, her shoulders rising towards her ears in anger. She snatched his arm, wrapping her fingers around his wrist tightly and dragging him from the room until she practically threw him into a kitchen chair. “There, now you can be ‘comfortable’ and stop avoiding the question.” She leaned forward to get in his face and growled, “So tell me. Now.”

Lucifer couldn’t stop himself from the admiration rising within him. She truly was a magnificent specimen of human; he would almost admit that his Father had done quite well in creating her specifically. Beautiful though she was, it hardly compared to the fire in her eyes that even fear of the Devil couldn’t shake from her. How could such a glorious creature think of herself as a nobody?

With a grin, he raised his hands defensively. “All right, you win; no more distractions,” he said amicably before gesturing towards another chair. “You may want to sit down for this one.” When she just continued to glare at him, he gave a theatric sigh. “No? You’re choice, Detective. Even if seeing my Face didn’t knock you off your feet, I assure you this information will.”

“Stop stalling and spill it, Lucifer; I’m running on no sleep…_or patience_.”

Approving of her moxie, he smirked. _What a delightful woman, indeed…._ “My Father sent me a message through my holier-than-thou brother to Hell thirty-four years ago: if I gave my word to be your Guardian Angel, I’d be allowed topside until my duties were done. Seeing as my domain isn’t exactly hospitable and coming to Earth otherwise would involve my siblings’ interference, I gladly took the deal.”

There was one slow blink, then another, as the information seemed to sink in. “And your father is…?”

“God, of course.”

She reached behind her blindly to pull out the chair there, haphazardly dropping into it. Her head plummeted into her hands, gaze wide and unseeing on the floor. Her chest rose and fell steadily, then faster and faster.

Fighting the unnerving urge to reach over and soothe her, Lucifer used the time it took her to compose herself to brush nonexistent dirt from his suit. How was he supposed to calm her? The only way he’d found himself useful to anxious humans involved far less clothing and she had shown she wasn’t in the least bit interested.

Once she’d slowed her breathing, she looked back at him, her voice shaky as she asked, “Why? Why would He care about me at all?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he answered truthfully, careful not to show that he was also shaken by that truth. “I suppose it has something to do with Him having Amenadiel bless your parents with you, but His Plan has always been a mystery, even to His children—”

“Wait, what?” she asked quickly, leaping ferociously back in her seat. “What does that even mean?”

Lucifer found himself doing something he had never done before: thinking of how to say something tactfully. It had been unsettling to watch her panic and he’d like to avoid it, if possible. “Well, you weren’t meant to be born; either your mother or father was infertile, though I never thought to ask which it might be.” The little color she’d had in her face drained further and he hastily added, “But Father must need you for something, otherwise He would never have come to _me_ for help—”

“Are you kidding?” she breathed, chest beginning to heave once again. “So, you’ve never been a Guardian Angel before? And He went to His _greatest enemy_—”

“Father has more to concern Himself with than me, I’m sure,” he interrupted, hoping to stave off her worry. “Since He had me thrown from the Silver City, I doubt He’s thought about me much.”

He could see the information clicking together behind her eyes and, so long as she was focusing on that, it seemed to be calming her. “He _did_ have you thrown out of Heaven! Why?”

Stiffening, Lucifer regretted trying to do the kind thing and tried to think of an answer that would pacify her without giving too much away.

He hated the memory of Michael snapping his wings and tossing him through dimensions, especially after their latest case. How could he possibly describe what he’d been through for simply questioning orders? One tryst in the Garden and he was still being punished, left in Hell for millennia to warden his Father’s favorite prison.

“I wanted to choose my own path; He doesn’t like those that go against Him,” Lucifer answered simply, shaking off the phantom feeling of his wings regenerating.

“Did you disobey because you hate humans?” she asked slowly, warily eyeing him once again. “Is that why you try to get them to go to Hell?”

It was his turn to blink in surprise and, once he realized she was serious, he let out a laugh. “What? Why would I hate humans?” He rose, crossing to the cupboard where he’d discovered she kept her coffee, readying a pot. “Mortals are so much fun, constantly finding ways to entertain yourselves, cramming so many experiences into the few decades you are on this plane of existence.” He turned to glance at her as he filled the pot with water. “How many scoops do I put in? I prefer my espresso maker, but I’m sure I can figure out this…Mr. Coffee.”

She raised and eyebrow and stood, moving around him to take control of the process herself. As she spooned out four scoops, she asked, “Do I want to know how you know your way around my kitchen so well?”

“You’re my charge, Detective,” he said easily, pouring the water in as she clicked the filter into place. “I’ve had a look around your place to figure you out.”

“The missing two weeks?”

He nodded with a smile, confused at the exasperated expression on her face but deciding against questioning her further. “Anyways,” he began as she pressed the brew button, “I know you must have more to ask me, so”—he spread his arms wide, hoping it gave her the impression of an open book—“fire away.”

-.-

Being wheeled through the precinct wasn’t exactly how he had envisioned his return to the office, but it was still better than his previous destination. He’d even take the doctors and nurses poking and prodding him over _that_, despite the terrible food and boring television.

But Paolucci was smiling and excitedly telling everyone that approached them about his partner’s prodigal return, what a miracle it was to have him back after the cluster fuck that was Palmetto. And his fellow officers were more than within their rights to continue offering to buy him a beer—once he was medically cleared for a good time, of course.

All in all, it just felt good to be back, to know that he had escaped Hell…for now.

“Malcolm, how good to see you back out and about,” Lieutenant Monroe said, barely looking up when they finally made their way into her office. She had a small, self-satisfied grin on her face as she looked over a file, the gleam of ambition in her eyes making him straighten in his seat. “Anthony, I’d like to speak to him privately. Please close the door on your way out.”

That was new. He kept his head turned over his shoulder, watching the door click closed before he gave her his full attention again. “Heard some rumors a congrats is in order, Lieutenant,” he said good-naturedly, finally getting her to look at him. Her smile only grew when he added, “Or, I guess Commissioner, now.”

“Yes, it seems that the high-profile cases being solved so quickly have pretty much cinched that for me,” she agreed lightly, fingers lacing together as she leaned forward. A tightness appeared at the corners of her mouth and she glanced briefly back down at the paperwork. “But before I officially announce my replacement, I wanted to talk to you.” She stood, rounding her desk to lean on the corner to his left. “The officer, caught in a hail of bullets in the line of duty, taken off life support only to miraculously come back to life. It’s quite the story.”

He kept himself from showing his nervousness but couldn’t help the sweat that began wetting his hairline. There was no way she could know what he’d been up to at Palmetto, but he hadn’t believed in Heaven and Hell before he’d died, either. Had someone found something on him? Why wouldn’t she have had him immediately arrested? Unless…. “Look, getting shot at when I’m meeting with an informant—”

She held up a hand, stopping him rather unceremoniously, but he gritted his teeth at the disrespect. Face hardening, she said, “I know Detective Decker was looking into you. She has nothing other than a feeling and she’s on record talking about a man in a suit; your job is _not_ in danger. Quite the opposite actually.” Her predatory smirk grew once again, her voice becoming a purr. “I’d like you to endorse me, Malcolm. The race for Commissioner is almost certainly mine, but I can’t be too careful, not when my future is on the line.”

Feeling an answering grin stretch his lips, he thought about what she was saying. “Are you offering to get Decker off my back? I mean, I’d be putting my good name behind yours—”

Her hands went to the armrests of his wheelchair, her face in his and no longer even trying to be pacifying. “The investigation into Palmetto is a blight on _my_ LAPD. There’s no evidence to say that you weren’t just meeting with an informant. Chloe Decker was clearly affected after seeing her brother in blue shot and she is _still_ under orders to see a psychiatrist biweekly.” Straightening to her full height, she put her jacket back into order and went back to the other side of her desk. “I want to get Lieutenant Pierce in before I take my new post. He’s the best of the best and will instill confidence within my constituents. I can probably make that transition much easier for you.”

He realized then what she was saying. No one believed Chloe, even a little bit, which left him in an incredibly good position. Paolucci had already explained that no one trusted her anymore and now the higher-ups were having their doubts? It was honestly just too perfect; he got to keep everything, _and_ he’d be even less likely to get investigated if he wanted to start up his old shenanigans again.

Theatrically struggling as he stood, he reached a hand across the desk, which she took with glee. “Get me in front of a reporter, Commissioner.”


	8. I Could Kill Her, Ya Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mazikeen tells Lucifer what she's found and comes up with a plan of action while the Devil questions what God's motives are.

After tucking Chloe into her bed—she’d somehow made it to noon before nodding off on the couch—Lucifer returned to his penthouse, whistling energetically as he crossed to his personal bar. Though he’d gone to her apartment hoping to find answers to how he could be hurt by a mid-range sedan, he found that answering her questions had quite thoroughly distracted him.

It was fascinating to watch her mind at work, most of her queries surprising him. They’d been fueled by the rest of their conversation, as if she were putting together a puzzle with every piece he gave her. Had there ever been a human aware of his existence that had been so ready to learn all things pertaining to him?

_“Why does everyone think you’re so evil?” she asked past a yawn, her eyes drifting closed. She tucked her head more comfortably against the arm of the couch, one hand tucking beneath her cheek. “Honestly, you’re just a too-rich man-child.”_

He wondered if she’d fallen asleep listening to him chuckle.

Taking a sip of his freshly poured vodka, he couldn’t hide the grin that came to his face. It was strange to think that something so simple as the detective calling him immature managed to make him smile at all. Hadn’t he done so much else in his long life? But he couldn’t call to mind anything that had given him so much pleasure; she really was an intriguing little miracle.

“What’s got you all smiley?” Mazikeen asked disdainfully as she appeared in the archway that led to his bedroom. “Finally get in the miracle’s pants or something?”

“No, actually,” he answered, gently shaking his low-ball glass. “Though we did have a pleasant enough day of explaining divinity. Should I be worried that you’ve returned so quickly?”

Arms crossed over her chest, she pushed away from the door, stalking towards the bar. “Well, there’s no demons topside, so we’ve got that going for us,” she said coolly, snatching a beer and cracking the cap with her teeth. Spitting the bottle cap to the floor, she took a hefty swig before continuing. “And I talked to Amenadiel; he hasn’t sensed any of your siblings. If it’s one of them, they’re flying under the radar.”

Raising an eyebrow as the demon chugged most of the bottle, he returned, “Though the pun is appreciated, I don’t know what that means for me. Besides, it’s not as if my eldest brother has much say in anything from the Silver City.”

“That’s true,” she allowed with a tilt of her beer. Her eyes locked on the balcony across the room and unnerving silence reigned. Finally, she glanced back at him, her Hellish face appearing briefly over her features. “But who’s to say this doesn’t have something to do with the miracle?”

Taken aback, Lucifer immediately flung the thought away. “Every time I’ve been around the detective, I’ve put myself in harm’s way; what would have changed with the car?”

Shrugging, Mazikeen said nothing, silence filling the space around them once again. Whatever the demon was thinking, she wasn’t going to share without a direct question. But what could she be plotting in that head of hers? It wasn’t as if—

“I could kill her, ya know,” she offered brusquely, setting the now-empty bottle down. They locked eyes from their respective spots at the bar. “The way I see it, I’d be killing two birds with one stone. No more deal with your Dad, and I get to go home. Win-win.”

Fury filled Lucifer at the thought, his Devil Face threatened to burn through as the glass in his hand shattered. “You will do no such thing,” he snarled, a rasping echo following his words threateningly. “I do not renege—”

“But you wouldn’t be the one reneging,” she answered thoughtlessly, though she slowly put some distance between the two of them. “And who knows? Maybe you getting hurt was proof that you aren’t supposed to protect her anymore, that Daddy dearest is done with her.”

His mind raged at the idea. “So, Father sent me to Earth for a few years just to have her get hit by a car?” he scoffed angrily, his patience all but worn thin. “Besides, my Mark….” His voice drifted off as he thought back on the moments before he’d been struck by the car. He’d watched in abject horror as the car barreled towards her, almost not making it to take the hit because his Mark _hadn’t_ been itching. Just before he’d gone to her, he’d felt for the brand, briefly wondering what it could mean when he’d had to move.

Was that just some sort of plan to have her die in the right place at the right time?

“Who knows?” Mazikeen shrugged her shoulders once again, reaching for another beer. “God is supposed to work in mysterious ways, right? Who knows why He might have wanted her dead then?” She took another healthy swig. “It was just a thought. Besides, wouldn’t it be like Him to punish you for something you didn’t know you were doing wrong?”

He pondered that for a moment, wondering at what game his Father might be playing. Just like his companion had said, who knew what was going on in God’s head at any given point in time? He was omniscient; her dying from a car accident might have been what He was intending. She had been accident prone for the first thirty-odd years of her life. But if she was meant to die so simply, why make a deal with the Devil to protect her? What could his Father be planning?

_No,_ he thought darkly, barely keeping a snarl from his lips. _That isn’t how she is meant to die. There has to be something more important she’s meant to do._

“We could just test the theory,” the demon continued idly. “I pick a random time, go to her place. If you’re sent to protect her, we’ll be able to cross it off the list. If not, we right the universe. Another win-win.”

Why did he feel sick at the insinuation that Chloe’s life was worth the coin toss? Why did he get so angry over one human life? Perhaps he was growing too attached to the woman; was that part of being a Guardian? He would need to speak with Amenadiel. He hadn’t exactly been completely filled in on all the Mark would mean.

Clasping his hands together, Lucifer prayed to his brother, asking him for help. In a whoosh of wings, he heard the First Angel’s boots hit the marble of his balcony.

Mazikeen reached for one of her knives, twisting it in her hands absently. “You could have warned me you were inviting the bird brain over for a drink,” she grumbled as Amenadiel crossed the room.

“Asking for _my_ help? You must be in desperate need,” the Angel taunted, his face seeming to be set in disapproving stone. “And where is the miracle Father entrusted to you?”

Lucifer waved him off with a smirk, always happy to annoy his older brother. “I tucked her into bed and returned here. I believe Mazikeen already asked you some questions?”

With a roll of his eyes, Amenadiel crossed his arms over his chest, the cheap T-shirt he wore threatening to pop its seams. “Yeah, but she didn’t exactly tell me _why_ you needed to know whether our siblings had come down with me. I suppose you’ve encountered some problem that has to deal with my studies?”

The demon snorted, finishing her beer in a rush. “If you want answers outta me, Bird Boy, you can come and get them.”

He pointedly ignored her, keeping his eyes locked on Lucifer, an impatient light gleaming there.

With a sigh, the Devil raised his hands—as much as he would like to watch his brother get his ass kicked by a demon, he needed to pick his brain, metaphorically, more. “I wouldn’t call it a ‘problem’, per se, but I am in need of your more…traditional studies, yes.” Motioning for Amenadiel to sit, Lucifer grabbed himself another glass, this time reaching for the whiskey. “You see, I was just thinking about the Mark and how _very_ little I was told about what this deal would entail, so—”

“You don’t know how to be a Guardian.”

Jaw clenching, the younger brother said through gritted teeth, “I’m well aware of my duties pertaining to that, brother: keep the mortal alive. Hardly a Herculean task.” Suddenly not wanting to look his brother in the eye, Lucifer poured two fingers of whiskey before thinking better of it and doubling that. “I would just like to know a bit more about the Mark, itself, seeing as I wasn’t around to educate myself on it.”

The subtle accusation hung in the air and both Angels allowed it to remain there.

And wasn’t that just like Amenadiel and the others, to so quickly forget that he had been one of them once upon a time? That all it had taken was one act of youthful rebellion for him to be stricken from the “family” forever?

“While this is _super_ cozy,” Mazikeen said suddenly, grabbing the remainder of her six pack from the bar, “it also looks like you two’ve got it handled. I’m gonna go see if Patrick wants to head for the walk-in.”

The two men watched as the demon crossed to the elevator, already working on another beer.

“Does she plan on drinking those while in the walk-in?” Amenadiel asked dryly as he finally sat down on the couch, shrugging his wings away.

“The walk-in?” Lucifer chuckled, crossing to the armchair. “Those won’t even make it to the dance floor.” Getting comfortable in his spot, he gestured vaguely towards his brother. “Now, you were just about to fill me in on all things ‘Mark’.”

-.-

An hour later, Amenadiel was leaned forward, fingers rubbing his temples intensely. The conversation had quickly diverted from the Guardian Mark after Lucifer had been forced to explain how the car crash had come about. “So,” the elder Angel started, exasperated. “Let me get this all straight. You ‘accidentally’ showed not just the mortal you’re supposed to be Guardian of your Devil Face, but also a murderer you had thrown through glass. I’m guessing that’s when she ran into traffic.”

Groaning at the bar, Lucifer took another swig from the bottle of whiskey, hanging his head. “No, she didn’t _run into traffic_; we returned to the precinct—”

“She went _with you_ to her job after she saw _your_ face?”

“It would appear so!” the Devil answered, affronted. Even though he understood how terrifying his face _could_ be to humans, the insinuation that he was some sort of an abomination…. “In fact, she mostly had questions about her being a miracle and how my deal with Father—”

“You _told her_ she’s a _miracle_?” Amenadiel asked, jaw nearly hitting the floor. “Do you know how dangerous that is when she’s part of Father’s Plan? What if she tries to change her destiny?”

Lucifer raised an eyebrow. “How would she know anything about her destiny? It isn’t as if Father has shared His plan for her with me!” Chuckling, he exclaimed, “If _I _don’t know why He’s chosen her, how can I ruin the great reveal?”

The older Angel stood, wings unfurling threateningly. “If she was supposed to _know_ that she’s a miracle—”

“Dear old Dad knew what He was doing when He _asked me_ to protect a mortal! He’s supposed to know everything all the time!”

At a stalemate, Amenadiel fumed as Lucifer mockingly raised his bottle for another drink. The Devil could practically hear the furious thoughts rolling through his brother’s head. He knew he wanted nothing more than to call out the Lightbringer for the blasphemy he dared to spew about their Father, how he always insisted on questioning their Father and His Plan.

But didn’t he grow tired of following orders he didn’t know the reason for? Didn’t he want—for once—to know why things were happening?

What if Chloe _was_ supposed to die in something as middling as a car accident? Why create a _miracle_ just to destroy it? What was the point in bringing the Devil to Earth if not for something that actually mattered?

Finally, after long moments of silence, Amenadiel returned his wings to his shoulders, rolling his neck. Striding to the bar, he said, “We’ve gotten off topic. Why are you worried about the Mark?”

Shrugging lightly, Lucifer started to speak, only to stop himself. Did he dare to tell his brother that he’d been injured by something from the mortal realm? Could he trust that Amenadiel wouldn’t use the information for himself? If he wasn’t sure why he’d been hurt, who was to say that it wasn’t a permanent development?

As he shifted in place, he heard the crunch of glass beneath his feet and glanced down before looking to his hand. He’d crushed a glass in his palm, but there was no blood to be found. Had it simply healed too quickly for him to notice? But he’d been regenerating from the car accident for the entire day; was it because he’d tucked his wings away before they’d mended completely?

Deciding quickly to give his brother none of that information, he answered slowly, “When the car was headed towards her, I had to check that the Mark remained; I didn’t get the usual warning. I was wondering if that was normal.”

Amenadiel clearly noted the side-step, warily answering, “There are any number of reasons a Mark might not burn.” Crossing to stand on the other side of the bar from Lucifer, the Angel sat on a stool, looking cool and collected. “Maybe she was going to jump out of the way in the knick of time; we can’t know what would have happened.”

“That’s what I thought at first!” Lucifer agreed, swirling the nearly empty bottle of whiskey. “But there was no way, brother. And I find it hard to believe that Father called me up here to have the detective get hit by a car at the right time.”

“If that was part of His Plan—”

“Then why not have you or one of our other siblings who are true Guardians protect her? She hasn’t exactly been in insane situations where one of you wouldn’t have sufficed over my particular brand of protection!” He leaned on his elbows on the bar, bringing himself face to face with Amenadiel. “Why, after so many eons, would He want me here if she was just to die in some random hit and run?”

The Angel pondered that for a moment, eyeing the younger one as if putting pieces into place. “If she was meant to die there, brother, repercussions would be felt throughout all of Father’s Creation,” he answered slowly, mimicking his brother’s stance against the bar. “You know that if one thing diverts from His Plan, it will work to right itself. If that’s the case, the woman—”

A sudden, burning pain exploded between his shoulder blades, making it nearly impossible to keep himself from hitting the floor. His wings erupted from his back, knocking over several hundred dollars’ worth of booze in their wake.

-.-

Chloe opened her eyes slowly against the waning sun that shown in her bedroom. Before, she’d thought it a comfort to have west-facing windows; she’d always preferred sunsets over rises. Something about the day ending, no matter what had happened, put her at ease.

Now, though, it was burning against her eyelids.

With a groan, she sat up, expecting her neck or back to hurt; the last thing she remembered was leaning against the arm of her couch.

Instead, she was fighting her comforter, which had literally been tucked in around her. Suddenly, the day before raced into her mind, making her groan. Had she really asked Lucifer—her civilian consultant/the Devil—if Angel’s wings were modeled after doves? _He spent the entire day laughing at me,_ she decided, feeling her cheeks heat. _Why didn’t I ask real questions, like ‘what’s the meaning of life?’_

She was beyond saving, she decided, sighing as she stood. Looking to the clock, she knew it would be another sleepless night, though she also knew that she wouldn’t call in the next day. _The lieutenant barely puts up with me, as is; if it weren’t for Lucifer—_

Cutting that thought off at the knees, she told herself that she wouldn’t think anything more about the cosmos or whatever greater scheme was out there. Instead, she was going to make herself some dinner, call her daughter to say goodnight, and maybe take some Tylenol PM to fall asleep in a few hours. That was it. She didn’t need to worry about what was happening in the outside world; everything could wait until she got real sleep.

It took her a few minutes to find her phone, but it was nice to see that _someone who would not be thought about_ had kindly plugged it in beside her laptop. As she picked it up, she took note that there were several texts from other officers—insincere expressions of relief that neither she nor her consultant had been hurt, that they would do everything to find the culprit—but decided against responding, finding Dan’s number at the top of her contact list.

Holding the phone to her ear, she went to the fridge, searching for the half of a footlong sub she’d put in there the day before.

_“Chloe!”_ Dan breathed in relief through the phone. _“Thank God! With everything happening last night, I was worried when—”_

“I’m okay, Dan,” she answered before he could get himself too worked up. “Lucifer…pushed me out of the way. But he’s okay too,” she added quickly, as she decided against the sandwich and instead turned towards the pantry and a box of Kraft Mac N Cheese. “I think the adrenaline got to me; I crashed really hard. I’m sorry for not calling you before this.” Not necessarily a lie, but it still saved him from what he would construe as her going even crazier. “I’m actually calling to see if Trixie is still awake; I could really use her voice right now.”

There was a pause before her ex-husband responded dejectedly, _“Of course. I didn’t tell her what happened, didn’t want to scare her.”_

“Thank you,” she said with a sad smile, hoping he could hear it through the phone. “I don’t want to worry her when I wasn’t hurt.”

He gave a small grunt in what she supposed was agreement, before she heard him call for their daughter. _“Well, I’m glad you’re okay,”_ he said quickly, no doubt before Trixie hit the room like a tornado. _“I was worried, even if Joan told me that _Lucifer_ was the one hurt.”_

Deciding against responding, she just waited for her daughter to take the phone, forcing her thoughts away from the accident. She didn’t want to think about anything other than her child; she wouldn’t be able to sleep otherwise.

As she waited, she filled a pot with water, turning the burner on high. As the phone was turned over to Trixie, she pulled the strainer out of the cupboard, putting it in the sink.

_“Mommy, you didn’t call me to say goodnight last night!” _the seven-year-old accused in lieu of a greeting. _“You didn’t even text to say that you were still working!”_

Immediately filled with regret, Chloe stared into the water. Despite everything going on, she made a mental note to never again forget to call her daughter. “I’m sorry, Monkey; I was working late and lost track of time. I promise it won’t happen again.”

_“It better not,”_ her daughter grumbled before her mood immediately swung as she filled her mother in on her day at school.

Absently watching the water slowly coming to a boil, Chloe couldn’t help grinning at the excited way her daughter discussed everything under the sun in the most second-grade way. From recess to her class’s bean plant science project, there was nothing that wasn’t exciting in her world. Briefly wondering where that sense of wonder went when you grew up, the mother in her couldn’t help her heart bursting at the excitedness in her daughter’s tone.

Just as the water turned to a full boil, Trixie said, _“Well, Mommy, I think it’s time for bed. Daddy’s going to find my Coraline book, so I’d better go brush my teeth. I’m coming home tomorrow, right?”_

“Yes, Monkey,” she murmured around a smile. “I’ll pick you up from school and we’ll do a game night. Maybe I can get Grandma to swing by.”

_“Or we could just do movie night!” _the girl suggested. _“I know it’s hard to get enough players now that Daddy has his own apartment, but movies are easier for the two of us. We can make sticky popcorn!”_

Heart-breaking, Chloe answered, “Whatever you want, Monkey. I love you.”

_“Sweet dreams, Mommy!”_

Before she could respond in kind, there was a click. She kept the phone to her ear for just a second longer, like it might bring her daughter back for a moment, before she put it down on the counter.

She hated that she couldn’t give her daughter the nuclear family she clearly wanted. But could she be a good mom if she was faking a relationship with her ex?

Before she could fall too deep into her personal reverie, there was a creak behind her. Suddenly, the panic over the last few days of her life overtook her, and she grabbed the pot of boiling water, spinning around and flinging it towards the intruder without a thought.

“Son of a _bitch_!” a feminine voice growled from the shadows, the dark figure rubbing harshly at its eyes. Before Chloe could even think to move towards her service weapon, a small, toned woman stepped out from the shadows. “I haven’t been hit with scalding water since _childhood_; you’re just lucky you caught me by surprise!” The woman snatched knives from her sides, spinning them threateningly. “Let’s see what a miracle can do.”

That was the only warning before the leather-clad brunette threw herself at Chloe, making her duck and dodge as quickly as she could against the edges of the knives. As she was accosted, she suddenly realized that it was _Lucifer’s psycho bartender_ that had broken into her home, that was attacking her with wicked looking blades.

After what she’d seen, she knew that this woman—_Mazikeen_, she reminded herself—had only ever answered to her boss. Had he sent her to attack Chloe, to kill her after all she’d found out? Was he trying to send a message that, despite his friendly demeanor as he’d answered her questions, she was a liability that he needed to be rid of?

With nothing else at her disposal, she tossed one of her dining chairs at the intruder, hoping it would be enough to stop her.

But she tripped as she threw it, falling to the ground, knowing that it was the end. All she could think of was _why_ he would have done this; why would he have made sure she made it to bed, _tucked her in_, if not out of some place of guilt for what he was about to order?

With a violent grin, Mazikeen leapt past the chair and towards the fallen detective, brandishing her knives in a victorious show of strength.

Clenching her eyes shut, Chloe thought of her daughter, remembered how she’d felt when her father had died and languished in Trixie feeling the same.

Then there was a burst of white, making her raise her arm against the onslaught.

And the blow never came. Instead, there was a breaking of glass, a thump followed by a grunt, and then silence reigned outside of harsh breathing.

As she was about to open her eyes to investigate, she heard a lightbulb shatter and sensed the darkness. She knew that this might be the only chance she could take, so she flipped to all fours, moving as quickly as she could towards her service weapon. Mazikeen might be a demon, but a few bullets might give her a better sense of respect….

Snatching her gun off the counter, she whipped so her back was against the cupboards, eyeing the two shadows as they fought, forcing herself to fight back her panic at the blurred movements.

But before she could line up her shot, it was over. Despite the pure white feathers that fluttered all over her kitchen floor, Lucifer stood with his back to her, an imposing figure amongst the carnage of the dining area. Mazikeen was breathing heavily on the floor, nearly growling as she glared up at him, but he was unfazed.

It was a show of power, she knew, of a strength incomprehensible to her as a human.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually have several more chapters in the works, so expect less sporadic posting!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed! I have most of the story planned (like 85% ish) and have already started on Chapter One. There may be a preview up Friday on my Tumblr page (cecevolume.tumblr.com/tagged/ygd)


End file.
